


Apocalypse Suite in C Major, Reprise

by bootlessbodkin



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Immortal Klaus Hargreeves, comics powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29096115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootlessbodkin/pseuds/bootlessbodkin
Summary: Number Five has been missing for just under seventeen years. Klaus hasn’t spoken to any of their family except Diego and Ben in twelve (if you forget about the shouting match with Vanya in a CVS after The Book came out; he sure tries to). It’s the day of Dad’s funeral, and everything’s going just as shittily as expected, until-Number Five spent over forty years living in the wasteland of the post-Apocalypse, then a few years working for the Commission. He’s not exactly sure how many. He stopped keeping track.Only, he wasn’t alone.Because Klaus doesn’t stay dead.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Eudora Patch (past), Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 141





	1. Right Back Where We Started From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five and Klaus drop through the portal. Five messed up his equations a little bit, but it’s fine (probably). Dad’s funeral is a shitshow. Ben has some issues to work out. Not for the first time, Klaus gets brutally murdered. Vanya is having a very strange day.

“Get up,” A young voice says, something (its owner?) kicking him in the ribs. He opens his eyes slowly, wincing as the light hits his sensitive corneas, and groans dramatically.

“But _Mooom_ ,” He whines. “There’s no school today!”

“Stop being an idiot, Klaus,” The voice says. He turns his head to get a better look at its owner, and sits bolt upright. 

Now, _there’s_ a face he hasn’t seen in a while. 

He’s somewhat distracted from this revelation by the appearance of four other faces he hasn’t seen in about the same amount of time.

“Holy shit,” He laughs. “We did it.”

“Of course we did,” Five says haughtily. “You need to learn to trust my math.”

“Yeah, I’ll trust your math when you don’t look like a fetus,” Klaus says, poking him in the stomach. He has a lot of questions about Five’s appearance, but the biggest one clanging around in his aching skull has to be: if he looks like his thirteen-year-old self, why is he wearing the suit from Dallas? Shouldn’t he be in their old uniform, schoolboy shorts, terrible knee-socks and all?

Five plucks at the baggy dress shirt with a grimace, like the polyester had personally offended him. It personally offends Klaus, but it had been what was in stock at the department store, and they’d been a little too worried about swapping out their clothes from the last job (Luoyang, 311 AD, sometime in late spring) before they got asked too many questions to put in the effort to get nicer materials. He looks down at himself and confirms- with no small amount of disgust- that he’s wearing his identical number. Identical except for color, anyway; he’d had the good sense to spring for a tasteful navy blue rather than Five’s charcoal grey nightmare.

“We look like the Blues Brothers,” He complains. “No- actually, you look like you raided Daddy’s closet for school picture day.”

Five swats the back of his head, and Klaus hisses at him.

“What the hell,” Luther says, effectively stopping the wrestling match before it can start. They may be old men, but that doesn’t stop them from working through disagreements the old-fashioned way. “You were- and the skirt- and Five-“

“Don’t overwork yourself there, big guy,” Klaus says, hopping to his feet with only the slightest assistance from his powers. It does little to calm the shock freezing the group in place, but what’s he gonna do, get up like a _normal_ person? He worked _hard_ for these powers, thank you very much. He’s going to get as much use out of them as possible. Especially now that he doesn’t have to worry about drawing attention to the two of them.

“I’m starving,” Five announces, and heads inside before any of them can protest. Klaus follows close behind, and the movement seems to snap the rest of the Academy out of their stupor long enough to follow the pair of them down into the kitchen, where Five begins assembling a sandwich and Klaus rummages around in the fridge.

“C’mon,” He mumbles, pushing aside eggs and jars of jam in his search, only just gentle enough to ensure nothing will come spilling out. Only just. “Come _on_ , you old bastard. Don’t hold out on me.”

“What’s the date?” Five asks. “The _exact_ date.”

“The twenty-fourth,” Vanya says. Klaus hides his smile in the still-open fridge. _Fuck,_ but he'd missed hearing their voices. How had he forgotten Vanya’s steady, even tone? The way Luther’s voice rumbles and scrapes as it floats into the air?

“Of?”

“March,”

“Good,” Five says it quietly enough that Klaus swears he can hear the gears overheating in his tiny brain. Eight days to save the world. What could go wrong?

“Are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Luther asks. Then, a few moments later, when it’s become clear Five has no interest in replying: “It’s been seventeen years.”

“It’s been a lot longer than that,” Five scoffs. Klaus doesn’t need the tell-tale _whoosh_ of air next to his ear to know that Five’s jumped to the step-stool lying next to the fridge, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. He abandons his search for booze to aid in Five’s quest to make the world’s most disgusting sandwich, holding out the jar of peanut butter for him to take. He flits back to the end of the table with only a grunt as thanks, but it’s more than Klaus usually gets, so he’ll take it.

“Where’d you go?” Diego asks. Klaus turns away once more and flicks open the freezer. Bingo. He pulls his bounty from its icy prison and screws the top off, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can before taking a long swig.

“The future,” Five says. “It’s shit, by the way.”

“Called it,” Klaus mutters around the mouth of the vodka bottle. Diego narrows his eyes at him, but says nothing. What’s odd about the expression is that it seems more worried than disappointed. The hell is that about? Klaus has _definitely_ done worse in front of his siblings than take a few sips of freezer-vodka straight from the bottle. Okay, _finish_ a bottle of freezer-vodka, but in his defense it hadn’t been even halfway full when he found it.

“I should’ve listened to the old man. Jumping through space is one thing; jumping through time…” Five shakes his head, a rueful smirk on his face. “It’s a toss of the dice.”

“Wait, how did you get back?” Vanya asks.

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum-state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time,” Five says patiently as he spreads the peanut butter onto both slices of bread.

“That makes no sense,” Diego shakes his head.

“It would if you were smarter,”

Luther has to throw out an arm to keep Diego from launching himself at their tiny brother, and glances back at him with a warning in his eyes. Diego’s face twitches slightly, indignant at being given an order, but doesn’t fight.

“How long were you there?” Luther asks.

“Forty-five years,” Five says. “Give or take.”

Luther and Diego fall heavily back into their seats.

“So, what?” Luther says faintly. “You’re fifty-eight?”

“No, my _consciousness_ is fifty-eight,” Five rips open the marshmallows, spilling several on the table. “Apparently my body is now thirteen again.”

“How does that even work?” Vanya blinks slowly, like she’s trying to fight off a headache. Klaus can sympathize. Everything from the past forty-five years (give or take; Ben had been the only one to actually care about keeping track accurately) has been one long headache. He takes another swig from the bottle. The notch between Diego’s eyebrows gets a little deeper.

“Delores kept saying the equations were off. Eh,” Five shrugs and takes a bite out of his sandwich. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

“Delores?” Vanya repeats.

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Klaus rolls his eyes. “I thought we talked about this, young man-“

“Shut up,” Five snaps. Klaus rolls his eyes again, turning to their siblings for support, but finds only confusion. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, he wishes Ben-

He takes another pull from the bottle, this time finishing it off, and sets it on the counter, clenching his jaw and taking a deep breath. One. Two. Three. Hold. Out. Two. Three. Hold. One-

“What’s Klaus got to do with all this, anyway?” Allison asks. “And what the hell happened when- did both of you come through the portal?”

“Yeah,” Klaus scrubs a hand over his face, surprised when his fingers meet a goatee. Shit, he hasn’t had a goatee in… thirty years? He’d gotten sick of it, and Ben had pointed out it made him look a little too ‘Doctor Strange’ when he was working on his powers, so he’d stuck mostly to being clean-shaven. In practice, this had meant he permanently had some fairly impressive five-o’clock shadow, but in _theory_ he’d been going for clean-shaven. “Wait, something happened when I came through?”

“You were dead,” Diego snaps.

Oh. That’d explain the concern. And the headache.

“Are you sure?” Klaus asks, feigning ignorance. “I mean, I feel fine! Uh- wait. Where’s the other me?”

“When the portal opened, you threw a fire extinguisher through it,” Allison says. “And something on the other side fell towards it, and then you just sort of-“

“Died,” Diego repeats.

“Fell,” Allison says. “And suddenly you were wearing that suit instead of my skirt.”

“Ooh, skirts,” Klaus says. “I missed skirts. Hey, Fivey, can we go shopping?”

“I must have thrown you back into your body at this point,” Five says around a mouthful of peanut butter. “Sorry, meant to bring you through whole.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s it, somehow,” Klaus says. He brings up his hands to inspect them carefully, and while he does have all of his fingers, he also has his impressive collection of scars from years of knife-related accidents, building shelters, and trying to repair old machinery that sometimes turned out to still be connected to a power source. “I don’t think I’m high, for starters.”

Five pauses on his way to take another bite, brow furrowing.

“Hm,” He says, lowering the sandwich.

“What were you doing in the future?” Luther asks, turning to Klaus.

“Despite my best efforts,” Klaus raises the empty bottle as illustration. “The unrelenting march of time does, in fact, still affect me, o brother mine.”

“So how old are _you_ , then?”

“Why, Luther,” Klaus gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock-offense. “Didn’t our dearest _Pápá_ ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady her age?”

Luther rolls his eyes, but doesn’t press the issue further. Good. Because while the Hargreeves siblings can be remarkably dense on occasion, Klaus has no doubts that someone would have worked out the math and realized that Five’s shit future happens within the year, and then there would be _questions_. Oh, so many questions; and he and Five would have ever so much fun trying to answer them all while working against a ticking doomsday clock.

“Guess we missed the funeral,” Five says, pulling their attentions back to where he’s pulled an abandoned newspaper towards his sandwich-assembly station.

“How’d you know about that?” Luther asks.

“What part of ‘the future’ do you not understand?” Five and Klaus exchange exasperated looks. _Remarkably_ dense. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah,” Diego says.

“No,” Luther says.

They glare at each other.

Five clicks his tongue.

“Glad to see nothing’s changed,” He says, and heads for the hall.

“That’s it?” Allison calls after him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What’s there to say?” Five replies. “Circle of life.”

Klaus hurries after him before any queries can be lobbed his way, only to find the hallway empty. Damn. Slippery little bastard.

His hand drifts up to his goatee again, and a plan solidifies in his mind. Something to do while he waits for Five to regroup, anyway.

Five minutes later, he’s watching the hair swirl down the sink drain when a familiar face reflected in the mirror makes him drop the electric razor into the water, where it sparks and dies, spitting out blue smoke that he has to frantically swat towards the (thankfully cracked open) window.

“Nice suit,” Ben says. “Where’d you steal it from?”

“I _bought_ it, thank you very much,” Klaus shuts off the water and carefully extracts the corpse of his razor to toss it in the nearby trash can. “Although, the tie is stolen. I mean, c’mon, two dollars for a skinny tie?”

“What has the world come to,” Ben deadpans.

“Hold on, inflation,” Klaus mutters. “Shit, that’s like… seventeen bucks in 2019?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s a rip-off,” Ben says. “Inflation?”

“Long story,” Klaus says. Longer than he wants to get into, with his head still pounding like this. With the way his heart feels like it’s been run through a paper shredder and pressed back together with a meat tenderizer. He should’ve known, should’ve realized- should’ve allowed himself to _hope_ that returning to this point in the timeline would mean that Ben is still- that Ben hasn’t-

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ben jokes.

“Every damn day,” Klaus laughs, and if it’s a little forced, Ben doesn’t mention it.

He runs into Five as he leaves the bathroom.

“I never realized how weird it was the old uniforms had shorts,” He says, eyeing Five’s wardrobe change critically. “Or is it weirder that he only let us wear pants once we hit high school?”

“I don’t have anything else that fits,” Five says, straightening his blazer by the hem. “I feel like a child.”

“Well, you do look the part,” Klaus says. Five punches him in the arm. “Ow! Rude! Do I need to put you in time out?”

“It’s incredible,” Five deadpans. “Here I am, in the body of a child, and you’ve got yourself the mind of one.”

Klaus flips him off. He knows he’s proving Five’s point, but that doesn’t make it any less satisfying. Plus, being mature is for suckers. Suckers who didn’t earn their right to be as ridiculous as possible by suffering through four decades of literal hell on Earth.

“How are you feeling?” Five asks, eyes darting down the hall, ensuring they’re alone. “You were down longer than usual, for blunt-force.”

“Eh, same-old same-old,” Klaus shrugs. “Just glad your version of time-travel doesn’t give the same side-effects as the briefcases.”

“Yeah, can’t say I’ll miss the itching,” Five laughs. “Seriously, though. Something’s weird with the way we came back. I wish I could ask Ben-“

He stops himself with a guilty glance at Klaus.

“He’s here,” Klaus says.

“What?” Five snaps to attention quick enough that Klaus thinks he should have given himself whiplash.

“Not our Ben,” Klaus clarifies. “2019-Ben. I guess it sorta, I don’t know, slipped my mind that he’d still be here?”

“What?” Ben echoes Five’s surprise. “Klaus, what’s going on? You’re not making any sense.”

“Can you manifest him?” Five asks quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

Klaus clenches his fists, and a steady blue glow thrums around their outline for a few moments before wrapping around Ben as well.

“Hi,” Five says. Ben stares at him, then down at himself, then looks to Klaus, a mixture of fury and confusion on his face.

“What the hell?” Ben demands. “Could you do this the whole time?”

“That’s a little complicated,” Klaus says apologetically.

“Like the tie?”

“Yeah, actually,”

“You’re full of shit, did you know that?”

Something in Ben’s stomach growls, and from the way he pales and presses a hand to it, Klaus is willing to bet it’s not hunger cramps. The growls only get louder at the touch, and Ben’s eyes widen in terror.

Klaus closes off the connection funneling energy to Ben, and the blue glow dissipates, taking the growing wails of The Horror along with it.

“What’d you go and do that for?” Five demands.

“I don’t know about you, little bro,” Klaus says, ignoring Five kicking him in the shin. “But I’d rather not have to scrape our combined gore off the ceiling so soon after getting back.”

“He always had a handle on it before,” Five says.

“Yeah, ‘cause we practiced,”

Five shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he stalks towards the stairs.

“Don’t wait up for me, or anything!” Klaus calls after him.

Five doesn’t reply as he disappears down the steps, leaving Klaus alone with Ben once more. He tries to remind himself that Ben won’t start screaming and trying to tear himself apart, but the memory of it is burned into his brain forever, and it’s hard not to see the afterimages when he blinks.

“You owe me an explanation,” Ben says. He still hasn’t moved his hand from his stomach, still looks far too pale (ghosts don’t even _have_ blood), but his breathing has evened out (ghosts don’t even need to breathe!). Klaus thinks that’s a good sign.

“Probably,” Klaus agrees, and follows Five, only to be stopped by Luther in the hall just outside the living room, where Klaus can hear Five and Vanya’s hushed voices.

“We’re having the service in a few minutes, if you want to join,” Luther says. “Just out in the courtyard, by Dad’s favorite tree. The oak.”

“Right,” Klaus says. Ugh. He really doesn’t want to go to the funeral for a second time, but with Five here, it’s gotta go better. Right?

This assumption is proved resoundingly false when Diego and Luther get in the exact same fight Klaus so vividly remembers from all those years ago. He’s played it over in his mind so many times that he often dreams of it, but it’s interesting to see the little details that had faded with the intervening decades. Or that he’d missed, being so high.

“Hit him! Hit him!” Klaus crows around his cigarette. He staggers back a few steps when the fight moves towards him and Five, pushing Five behind him. His efforts to protect his darling, dearest brother are met with a reproachful glare.

“We don’t have time for this,” Five says, and goes inside. Klaus is halfway towards following him, when a deafening _clang_ has him turning back to the fight just in time to see Ben’s head rolling across the cobblestones.

“And there goes Ben’s statue,” Allison sighs.

“Diego, no!” Vanya cries, too late as the knife flies from his hand.

Luther isn’t quite quick enough to cover the gash, and they all see the strange, dark, hairy skin underneath his coat. It’s no surprise to Klaus, who had helped Five bury their family, had seen through the holes in Luther’s sweater, but it’s jarring all the same. Humans aren’t meant to look that way, and he doesn’t have a goddamn clue what could have caused it. Just another one of the millions of questions he’s harbored since the first time he was here, at this point in time.

Luther hurries inside without another word, and Allison follows him with a piercing glare back at Diego.

“You never know when to stop, do you?” Vanya asks him.

“You got enough material for your sequel yet?” Diego sniffs.

“He was my father too,” She storms inside, trying and failing to hide the way her face crumples as she passes Klaus.

Diego watches her, watches for a long moment even after the door closes. He walks up to Mom, who’s staring at Dad’s ashes with a vacant look on her face, and takes her by the arm.

“Mom, hey. Let’s go inside,” He says, impossibly gentle in the way he only ever was- is with Mom, with Vanya (before The Book), with Klaus (on rare occasions). “Okay? C’mon.”

Klaus is the last one outside, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he stares down at the pile of Dad.

“Bet you’re loving this,” He says. “The team at it’s best.”

He takes the cigarette from his lips and flicks the ash off the end, watching as the smoke curls past his fingertips and vanishes in the driving rain. There’s something on his wrist.

He pulls back the sleeve of his blazer to reveal a wristband. Patient identification, from the rehab on the other side of town. It had fallen off about two weeks after the end of the world, but Klaus had kept it long after, transferring it from pocket to pocket in some desparate attempt to remember what his life had been like Before. 

He pulls it from the interior pocket of his blazer, and lays it next to the one on his wrist. The older one is yellowed, the plastic coating all but entirely flaked off, its text faded and barely legible, but they’re clearly the same. Curiouser and curiouser.

He puts the old wristband back in his pocket.

“Just like old times,” Klaus scoffs. He takes the last pull of the cigarette, and carefully sets the smoldering filter on the top of the pile of Dad, like an explorer claiming a mountain’s peak for himself.

“Best funeral _ever_ ,” Ben says. Klaus turns to find him staring at the fallen statue with a delighted grin on his face. “Not quite as good as when you gave me a sharpie mustache, but I like what they’ve done. Really, a masterful reimagining of the piece.”

“Somehow they’ve made it look more like you,” Klaus elbows him with a grin, and Ben jumps at the contact, a hand flying to his stomach in an instant. “Don’t worry, you’re not actually physical. You just have the lovely privilege of being able to interact with me. As long as I’m reasonably sober.”

“Can I get that explanation now?” Ben asks, letting the hand drop back to his side.

Klaus sighs.

He starts from the beginning.

Klaus is alone once more when he finally joins Five in the kitchen. Ben, as expected, had been furious that Klaus could have accessed his powers if he’d gotten sober, and Klaus parrotting back every jab and rant before this version of Ben could even get to them hadn’t calmed his temper in the slightest.

“What happened to you?” Five asks, pausing to scrutinize Klaus’ new shiner.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” Klaus says, tossing himself into a chair and using his powers to summon a bag of peas from the freezer. He miscalculates how much force to use, and it hits him in the face at approximately thirty miles an hour. Five grunts and resumes his careful destruction of Mom’s perfectly organized cabinets. “I told Ben. Everything.”

“Yeah?” Five says. “How’d he take it?”

“Three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” Klaus says, adjusting his grip on the bag. His fingertips are already starting to lose feeling from the prolonged contact with the cold. “He’s off somewhere… throwing a ghost-y tantrum, I guess.”

He hears the click of Allison’s heels before he sees her, and he has to use the extra time to push away the image of her corpse, lying face-up and covered in ash, half-buried under the remains of the Icarus Theater. While whatever had happened to cause the end of the world had somehow not created a single ghost, they still find ways to haunt him.

“Where’s Vanya?” She asks.

“Oh, she left,” He says. He’d come back inside just in time to see Pogo shutting the door behind her.

“That’s a shame,” Five says, pulling his head out of the cabinet and hopping down from the counter with something in his hands. Klaus isn’t quite certain that he’s on the same topic as the rest of them.

“Yeah,” Allison says. Klaus thinks it’s sweet that she’s sort of trying to actually act like a sister for the first time in her life, rather than treating them all like her underlings. Or whatever her thing with Luther was. Which, _ew_. He really hopes they grew out of it. Anyway, it’s a shame that she only decided to make the change the week the world’s supposed to end. Just another reason they have to make sure it doesn’t, he supposes.

“An entire square block, forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms. But no,” Five slams the french-press on the table. _Definitely_ not on the same topic, then. “Not a _single_ drop of coffee.”

“Dad hated caffeine,” Allison says.

“Well, he hated children too, and he had plenty of us!” Klaus laughs sarcastically. Allison and Five give him twin unamused looks, and his laughter trails off. He’s unappreciated in his time. _Ben_ would’ve laughed.

“I’m taking the car,” Five says. He kicks Klaus’ chair as he passes. “Get up.”

“Where are we going?” Klaus rises in the air, still reclined, and enjoys the gasp of surprise the motion drags out of Allison. He blows a kiss to her, and the surprise is replaced with fond annoyance.

“To get a decent cup of coffee,” Five snaps, like it should be obvious.

“Aw, is someone going through withdrawals?” Klaus coos. He has to drop about a foot to avoid the can of chili lobbed his way, shrieking indignantly. He drops the bag of frozen peas.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Allison directs the question to Five, and Klaus can’t even be mad that she’d ignored the possibility of him driving. Why would he need to learn, when Five is perfectly good at it? Plus, he’s not sure he and pedestrians would get along very well. The dead might not mind getting plowed through by several tons of metal, but the living tend to have something to say about that sort of thing. _Especially_ once they’ve crossed from one state of being to the other.

“I know how to do everything,” Five sneers. He grabs Klaus by the wrist and pulls him through a rift in space that leads to the alley outside. Klaus turns and pukes on the gravel. “Jesus, pull yourself together, you animal.”

Klaus spits the last of the bile out of his mouth.

“A little warning would’ve been nice,” He says. “We can’t all have that iron stomach of yours.”

He pokes Five’s stomach, and the not-a-teen recoils, slapping his hand away with a scowl.

“Get in the car,” Five says.

Klaus only just gets the door shut before Five peals out of the alley, gravel spitting from under the wheels. It’s not long before they’re pulling into a spot in front of Griddy’s, and Klaus feels like a fool for not guessing their destination.

“Man, when’s the last time we snuck over here?” He sighs as they approach the door. “I don’t think I’ve even been on this block in sixty years.”

“You stopped coming after I left?” Five frowns. “You never told me that.”

“Yeah, well, it just wasn’t as fun without our favorite rabid toddler,” Klaus ruffles his hair, and is surprised when Five doesn’t so much as shove him away. The bell above the door jingles when they walk through into the empty dining room. Five makes a beeline for the counter and rings the bell impatiently.

“Just a minute!” A high voice calls from the kitchen.

Klaus sits on the stool next to Five and spins idly, coming to a jarring stop when Five grabs him by the shoulder.

“Cut it out,” He says before releasing him.

“Someone’s awful bossy today,” Klaus says. He doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder when the bell above the door jingles, but he does watch with mild amusement as the newcomer takes a seat co-occupied by the ghost of a man who, from the looks of him, had been the victim of a hit-and-run. The ghost grumbles in annoyance, and moves down a few seats before resuming his attempts to garner the attention of the absent waitress.

“We only have eight days, there’s no time for goofing around,” Five says.

“Didn’t Ben teach you manners, though?” Klaus hums, turning back to the conversation in an attempt to tune out the ghost’s increasingly frantic calls. “‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ aren’t four-letter words, old man.”

Five gives him an incredulous look.

“What part of ‘we don’t have time for this’ aren’t you getting?” He asks.

“Right, right, because taking an extra two seconds is going to make the world end faster,” Klaus rolls his eyes.

Five’s snippy response is cut off by the appearance of the waitress, an oddly bird-like older woman, maybe around Five’s age, dressed in the pastel uniform Klaus vaguely remembers from their midnight excursions. He wonders if she was ever working when they came in. If she remembers the ill-behaved gaggle of pre-teens that would haunt her shop nearly every week for two years. If she’d ever wondered why they’d stopped coming.

“Sorry, sink was clogged,” She says, gesturing behind her to the still-swinging doors of the kitchen.

She takes the order of the tow-truck driver first, before turning to Klaus, who realizes with a jolt (and a kick to the ankle from Five) that _he’s_ the older-looking of the two of them, now.

“Oh! Uh,” His mind blanks in his panic, and he scans the menu board frantically, hoping to remember what he’d meant to order. “I’ll have a coffee, and a, uh… strawberry sprinkle?”

“Okay,” She nods, scribbling furiously on her notepad. “Can I get the kid a- a glass of milk, or something?”

“The kid wants coffee,” Five says. “Black.”

“Cute kid,” The waitress tries to exchange an amused look with Klaus, who returns it with a blank, but pleasant smile. Five grins in a manner that leaves Klaus feeling like he should be trying to find a bigger boat.

The waitress excuses herself to pour their coffees, and then heads to the kitchen with one last unsettled glance at Five.

Klaus slams back his coffee and rifles around in his pockets until he finds his money clip, which he hands to his brother.

“Leave a decent tip,” He says. “I’m going for a smoke.”

“You had one at the funeral,” Five complains. “I don’t appreciate being trapped in a car with a chimney, you know.”

“I’m under duress,” Klaus says airily. “You’re just cranky ‘cause Ben chewed you out for stealing mine.”

“Some of us have to worry about lung cancer,” Five says, shifting uncomfortably at the memory. Klaus had never seen Ben angrier, except maybe when the two of them found Five passed out after a bender for the first time. But Five had had the luxury of unconsciousness, giving Ben time to cool down before starting that particular lecture. Klaus hadn’t. And Ben had turned it on him, saying he was a bad influence, and things had got ugly, and the two of them hadn’t spoken for three days, a feat much harder to accomplish when there are only three people in the entire world.

“And some of us are lucky,” Klaus waves a cheery GOOD-BYE, and steps out into the chill night air.

He sits heavily on the curb. It takes him an annoyingly long time to find his lighter, and by the time he’s trying to coax more than a pitiful spark out of it (he really needs to stop scavenging lighters from the ground), the tow-truck driver has left with his stupid french donut. Who goes to a diner and asks for an éclair? _Maniacs_ , that’s who.

He’s pondering just what the most unhinged donut shop order would be when a shadow falls across him. He doesn’t look up.

“If you want to bum a cigarette off me, I’ll let you have one as long as I can borrow your lighter,” He says, the words coming out a little muffled as he forms them around the filter. When no response is forthcoming, he finally raises his eyes to look at the newcomer. Newcomer _s_. “Ah, shit.”

“Inside, now,” A man, perhaps the leader of the team, says.

“Well, since you asked so politely,” Klaus sighs, but does as he’s told, hands raised, lighter still clutched in HELLO, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. They march him back to his seat, and he uses the opportunity to eat his donut. They seem to be thrown a bit off-kilter by the action, but what’s he gonna do, waste food because it makes them uncomfortable? Their opinion won’t matter in a few minutes, anyway.

“Thought we’d have more time before they found us,” Five says, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Okay, so let’s all be professional about this, yeah?” The leader says. His anxiety is betrayed by the way he audibly adjusts his grip on the rifle he’s pointing at Five. Idiots though they may be, the hit squad is at least _somewhat_ aware of how scared they should be. Not scared enough, but it’s a start. “On your feet, and come with us. They want to talk.”

“We’ve got nothing to say,” Klaus says, spraying strawberry sprinkle crumbs everywhere. Five rolls his eyes at him, taking another sip of his coffee before setting the now-empty mug on the countertop with care.

“It doesn’t have to go this way,” The leader growls. “Think I want to shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Five’s hand inches towards a butter knife, and Klaus flexes his fingers, loosening the joints in preparation. “You won’t be going home.”

Five jumps, the gun sprays bullets into the wall, and blood sprays from the knife sprouting from the carotid. Five’s across the room before the body hits the floor.

Klaus stuffs the rest of the donut into his mouth before entering the fray, summoning a pale-blue cluster of angry spirits to keep a few of the gunmen busy while he launches himself at another, wrapping his legs around the man’s torso as he stumbles blindly across the diner until Klaus finally gets a good enough grip to snap his neck, sending them both tumbling to the floor. He hops to his feet, and notes with some confusion that his ghosts have vanished.

The moment of distraction is all one of the attackers needs to take aim and blast a hole through the side of his head.

Klaus opens his eyes to a monochromatic forest.

This isn’t right. 

Where are the mesas? The desert, stretching out for miles in every direction? 

Hell, where’s the old cowboy?

“You’re so pale,” A little girl says, kicking him where he lays on the dirt road. “Don’t they have any sun down there? I could’ve sworn I gave you a sun.”

“Where am I?” Klaus groans, sitting up and clutching his head. It’s really not fair that the headache starts _before_ he goes back. “Who are you?”

“What do you think?” She asks.

“I think you’re supposed to be a discount Clint Eastwood,” He says. She kicks him again. “Ow! Hey, quit it!”

“I haven’t been a cowboy yet. I was saving that for later,” She says, eyeing him critically. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” He says.

“No, you’re not supposed to be _here_ ,” She stamps her foot. “This _time_.”

“That too,” He says.

“Whatever, you have to go back down there,” She says. “And try to stay longer this time? I already sent you back once today, I’m getting sick of it.”

He opens his eyes to the flickering fluorescent lights of the diner, his back propped against the wall, and Five crouched in front of him, digging something out of his wrist.

“Stay still,” Five says, expression firm as he slowly extracts a blinking green thing, around the size of a tic-tac. Trackers. How had Klaus forgotten about their trackers?

“How long was I down?” Klaus asks. “And didn’t we talk about your manners, young man?”

“Fine, stay still _please_ ,” Five says. He rips the tracker out the last few millimeters with none of the care shown previously, and Klaus has to bite back a stream of curses colorful enough to make a clown jealous. “Not long. The usual, for a shot to the head.”

“I know it’s crazy, but sometimes I wish I didn’t know what that meant,” Klaus sighs. They get to their feet in unison and make for the car. Five pulls his tie from around the neck of a corpse as they pass, and carefully puts it back in its rightful place. He drops the two trackers in the gutter, and Klaus makes sure to grind them with his heel. “How long until they send another team, do you think?”

“I think they’d be fools to try that again,” Five scoffs. They pull out of their parking space at breakneck speed, weaving through city streets with little care for basic road safety or traffic laws. Klaus, remembering the little girl’s words, buckles his seatbelt. It’s not that Five isn’t a good driver- he’s a damn good one, actually- it’s just that he doesn’t have any qualms about launching his co-pilot through the windshield if he forgets to buckle up. Normally Klaus doesn’t mind either, but he’s a little sick of getting lectured by god. Or God, as the case may be. He’s not sure what the distinction is, between god and capital-G-God, but he thinks there might be one. Maybe. He’s not really sure.

“Who do you think they’ll send after us?” Klaus asks. “My money’s on Veronica and Sally. There’s no _way_ they’d pass up that assignment.”

“And whose fault is that?” Five asks. Klaus shrugs in a ‘what are you gonna do?’ kind of way. You go on _one_ mediocre date with a time-displaced assassin, and all of a sudden it’s a ‘dick move’ if you make out with her partner during the company Christmas party three months later. He frowns. Maybe it hadn’t been three months later for them, that could explain it. Then again, Veronica’s batshit enough that he could believe it either way. Not that he has to; he’s pretty sure that if he checks, he’ll still have the scar behind his ear from the wine glass she’d lobbed at him. “We’re above their pay-grade, anyway. They’ll send their best team after us.”

Klaus groans.

“Cha-Cha’s so _mean_ though,” He says.

“Then we better outrun them,” Five says. He parks across the street from a vaguely familiar building, one that’s a lot more familiar when Klaus imagines the roof caved in, and the walls crumbling.

“You want to tell _Vanya_?” Klaus asks. Five glares at him.

“She deserves to know,” Five says. “And she’s the least likely of them to- to laugh it off, or something.”

“Dude, we fought the forces of evil in high school,” Klaus says. “While wearing _spandex_. I don’t think the Apocalypse is too hard to believe.”

“I’m still telling her first,” Five says.

“Alright,” Klaus holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but I’m just saying: you’re gonna stress her out, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

“Any tiny action can have massive impacts on the timeline, you know that,” Five says. Klaus nods, conceding the point. “And if we do our job, it won’t be an issue.”

“Our job that we still don’t quite know how to do, you mean?” Klaus asks. Five rolls his eyes and steps out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“You coming, or what?” He calls, the words muffled by the glass and steel.

“I’m not exactly going to lend credibility to your story, you know,” Klaus replies. “You read her book, you know what they all thought of me. What I was like.”

“You’re not that man anymore,” Five says. “Now, stop whining and follow me.”

Klaus sighs, but unbuckles his seatbelt and extracts himself from the passenger seat, stretching and twisting until his back cracks in at least six different places before actually following Five up the steps. Each time they reach a locked door, Five blinks through and opens it for him before re-locking it. Finally, they draw level with Vanya’s apartment, and Five hesitates.

Klaus bangs his fist against the door. 

They wait. 

No answer. 

Five blinks through, lets Klaus in, and then poises himself in the chair by the window.

“You’re such a freak,” Klaus sighs. “I’m gonna go try to wash brain matter out of my hair.”

“ _I’m_ the freak?” Five challenges. Klaus flips him off with both hands before stumbling his way through the dark into Vanya’s bathroom, where he closes the door and flicks on the light.

He glares at his reflection. 

He’s so _sick_ of this face. At least Five’s changed over the years, gaining lines and spots and other visual indicators that time had passed. But Klaus has looked the same for forty-five years, will look the same until the heat death of the universe, possibly. He’s never been able to get a straight answer out of the cowboy about why the hell he’s still around, and he doubts the little girl will be any more helpful.

He fills the sink with hot water and does his best to scrub his hair without sloshing blood and bits of brain onto Vanya’s bathroom floor, to varying degrees of success. Eventually he gives up on the effort, satisfied that it’s at least mostly dealt with, drains the basin, and scoops up the little chunks of grey matter with toilet paper before flushing it. Not exactly sewage-safe, but he figures she wouldn’t exactly appreciate it just sitting in her trashcan. He exits the bathroom, slicking back his still-damp hair, just as Vanya’s tossing her keys in the bowl by the door.

“Oh,” She says, startled by his appearance. “Um. Hi.”

“Vanny!” He cheers, descending upon her to pull her into a smothering hug. She pats his arm awkwardly, and he pulls away, holding her at arm’s length, to take her in. Unlike the rest of their siblings, his last memory of her isn’t of a corpse. Instead, it’s of her looking exactly like this. Even down to the outfit. “Aw, I forgot how tiny you are! You’re just _adorable_ , I could carry you around in my pocket forever.”

“Thanks, I guess,” She mumbles. “Why are you guys here?”

“I’ve decided you’re the only one we can trust,” Five says. Klaus takes it as his cue to let go of Vanya, and instead wanders around the apartment. He has to admit, it’s a lot nicer when it’s intact. Still, they had used it for shelter for a good while before the last of the roof finally caved in, forcing them to move on. He can’t remember if they’d taken over Diego’s boiler room before or after, nor when they’d finally settled on the old Argyle street library as their base of operations. It had all happened before he finally got sober for good, and there are significant gaps in his memories from the time, not to mention the way the remaining ones sort of blur and fuzz together like a well-loved VHS tape.

“Why me?” Vanya asks.

“Because you’re ordinary,” Five says. Klaus winces at the word choice, and clearly Vanya expresses some kind of discomfort as well, because Five corrects himself: “Because you’ll listen.”

“Okay,” Vanya says. She moves closer to Five, then hesitates, her hand on the back of the couch like she’d meant to sit down. “Is that blood?”

Five glances at his wrist, and adjusts the blazer sleeve to better cover the incision. “It’s nothing,” He says.

“Let me look,” She insists. Reluctantly, he obliges, only wincing slightly when the fabric brushes the wound as she pushes the sleeve back, rotating his arm to better catch the light. She hisses in sympathy. “I’ll be right back.”

She heads for the bathroom, and Klaus, bored of his tour down memory lane, flops onto the couch on the other side of where she’d been moving to sit. His twin incision to Five’s twinges a bit, but he’s not exactly pressed about it. He’ll deal with it when he deals with it, but he is glad that someone besides himself or Ben is taking care of Five’s injuries for once. It’s a nice little change of pace.

Vanya returns quickly with a bottle of disinfectant, gauze, and cloth tape, and sets herself about cleaning and dressing the wound.

“When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future, you know what I found?” Five asks.

“No,” Vanya says softly, looking between her two brothers with a notch of confusion between her eyebrows.

“Nothing,” Five says. “Absolutely nothing. As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive.”

“What about Klaus?” She asks.

“That’s a bit more… complicated,” Five says carefully, meeting Klaus’ eyes above Vanya’s head. They have a brief conversation (argument) via facial expressions before he continues, entirely ignoring Klaus’ extremely salient points. “He was dead when I got there, but he didn’t stay that way.”

“What?” She stops portioning out strips of tape mid-rip.

“Diego was right,” Klaus sighs, accepting that the cat has resoundingly escaped its burlap prison, and there’s no getting it back in without being converted to ribbons. “Today in the courtyard, I did die. I just… don’t stay dead.”

She stares at him, eyes wide and still more than a little confused.

“Look, I don’t get it either,” He says. “But you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?”

He has tried to pry the jaws of this particular gift horse open so many times that he’s lost count. Five, fully aware of this, snorts. The sound jars Vanya out of her shock, and she resumes her careful first-aid.

“I never figured out what killed the human race, but I did find something else. The date it happens,” Five says. She finishes placing the bandage, smoothing the last air bubble out of the tape, and sits back. “The world ends in eight days, and we have no idea how to stop it.”

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” She says after a long moment.


	2. Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five has breakfast. Diego gets some bad news. Five messed up his equations a little bit, and it’s not fine, actually. Allison gets thrown a curveball.

“So, how do you not know what happened?” Vanya asks, once they’ve all got fresh mugs of coffee in front of them. Five and Klaus take long sips, having another facial-expression-conversation behind the raised rims of the mugs. “I mean, Klaus was… killed by it? Right?”

“The last thing I remember,” Klaus says, accepting his defeat with only minor irritation. He really needs to get better at debating Five with his eyebrows. Or in general. “Was Dad’s funeral. I have no idea what happened after that; when I woke up, it was like the week had never happened.”

“Ben theorized that whatever happened was either traumatic or powerful enough to wipe both their memories,” Five says.

“Ben?” She asks. “Ben died thirteen years ago, I don’t- how?”

“I see dead people,” Klaus says dramatically, though the weight of it is somewhat muted by the jazz hands he adds for emphasis.

“You got sober,” She says with some surprise.

“Well, yes,” Klaus says. “Not a lot of opportunity for drug abuse when all the suppliers are deader than disco. But Ben was- Ben’s different. Can’t get his punk ass to leave me alone no matter how fried I get.”

“Was?” Of course, she latches on to Klaus’ little slip up.

“You got anything stronger?” Five asks with a sigh.

They crowd into her kitchen, where she pours them all small glasses of whiskey, handing them over with only slight hesitation. Watching them carefully as Five sips his, and Klaus pours his into his coffee.

“You think we’re crazy,” Five scoffs.

“No! I- it’s just-“ She stammers. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Exactly what don’t you understand?” Five narrows his eyes. Klaus sighs wearily. So much for his hopes that Five could be gentle with _someone_. He’d been different, before the Commission. Before Ben’s… Klaus still isn’t sure what to call it. Doesn’t want to give it a name, really, because that makes it more real. As if the black hole left in his wake is something he can just wish away or ignore.

“Why didn’t you just time-travel back?” Vanya asks.

“Gee, wish I’d thought of that,” Five slams back the rest of his whiskey, abandoning all pretext of moderation. “Time travel is a crapshoot. I went into the ice and never acorn-ed.”

Klaus frowns at the odd metaphor, trying to place where he’d heard it before, but the memory escapes him, slipping through his fingers like smoke. Ah, smoke. He’d never gotten his cigarette at Griddy’s, had he? Vanya seems to understand, at any rate.

“You think I didn’t try _everything_ to get back to our family?” Five finishes.

“If you grew old there, in the Apocalypse,” Vanya says. “How come you still look like a little kid? How come Klaus looks the same?”

“I told you, I must’ve got the equations wrong,” Five’s not even trying to hide his frustration anymore, and Klaus decides it’s time for him to step in before he explodes.

“Did I ever tell you guys about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?” He blurts, cringing inwards as the words fall out. Why was _this_ the first thing that came to mind? “It was so painful!”

Five, familiar with the story, rolls his eyes, but some of the tension eases out of his shoulders, so Klaus is willing to call this a win. Vanya just sort of… stares at him, before visibly making the decision to just move on from this topic of conversation.

“I mean, Dad always said that time travel could mess up the mind,” She says carefully. “Maybe that’s what’s happening?”

The tension returns to Five’s frame like a rubber band snapping back into place.

“This was a mistake,” He says, setting his glass on the counter and making for the door. “You’re too young! Too naïve to understand-“

“No, Five! Five, wait,” She sets her own glass down and hurries around the edge of the counter. “I just- I haven’t seen you in a long time, and I don’t want to lose you again. That’s all.”

She takes a steadying breath, and Klaus drains the rest of his mug. No matter what Vanya thinks, Five’s already decided the conversation is over, and there’s no going back. All seven of them may be stubborn as all hell, but Five, once he’s made up his mind, is quite literally impossible to negotiate with. Klaus can’t count the number of times he’d _thought_ he’d talked Five out of something, only to find the sneaky little bastard had gone and done it behind his back. Five could probably say the same of him, frankly.

“And, you know what, it’s getting late, and… I have lessons early, and I need sleep. I’m sure you do too. Here,” She pulls two blankets from the hall closet, draping one over the couch and one on the armchair. “We’ll talk in the morning again, okay? I promise.”

Five nods begrudgingly, and something in Vanya’s expression settles.

“Night,” She says, and heads for her bedroom.

“Night,” Klaus and Five chorus.

The bedroom door clicks shut, and Klaus eyes the armchair warily. He’s slept in worse places, sure, but he’d kind of been looking forward to his own bed, for once. Instead of lumpy motel mattresses, dirt floors, or ‘mattresses’ stuffed with whatever they could find that hadn’t rotted from decades of exposure to the elements.

“Let’s go,” Five says, soft enough that his voice won’t carry into Vanya’s room. He closes the gap between the two of them, takes hold of Klaus’ uninjured wrist, and jumps them to the car. Klaus’ stomach only rebels slightly this time, and he’s able to keep himself from retching onto the pavement.

“What, we’re just ditching her?” Klaus asks. “After all that?”

“Just say ‘I told you so’ and get it over with already,” Five says. He rests one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the handle of the door, and hesitates for just the barest of moments before wrenching it open and throwing his tiny frame inside. Klaus waits until they’ve driven off before replying.

“I’m glad you tried,” He says. Five doesn’t respond, staring resolutely out the rain-spattered windshield.

They don’t talk the entire way back to the house, nor as they trudge up the steps to their bedrooms. They part at Five’s door with only a flash of Klaus’ GOOD-BYE hand and a mimicked response from Five’s blank palm, and when the door clicks shut, Klaus is left alone in the hall.

His head _pounds_.

He floats down the stairs, the only illumination in the dark hall the eerie pale-blue of his powers, and returns to the kitchen for the third time that day. Luther’s there, hunched around a bowl of Clever Crisp, and he looks up when Klaus lets himself drop to his feet.

“Hey,” Luther says with an awkward smile.

“Hey yourself,” Klaus says. If he were a bottle of aspirin, where would he be? He should’ve asked Five before the old man had turned in for the night; maybe he’d come across some painkillers on his coffee rampage. At any rate, no matter how hard Klaus squints at the cabinets, his memory doesn’t turn up the location of Mom’s kitchen NSAID stash. In his defense, it _has_ been forty-five years since he was last in this house, and fifty-seven since his last actual clear memory of the place.

“Looking for something?” Luther asks.

“Pain meds,” Klaus mumbles. Luther makes a disapproving sort of facial expression, and Klaus, tired and in pain, snaps. “I’ve been sober for thirty years, asshole. I have a fucking headache. And why would I be looking for a fix in the _kitchen_?”

“Oh,” Luther blinks in surprise before the confusion that had so rarely left his face earlier that day returns in full force. “You were drinking, though.”

“Okay, _was_ sober for thirty years,” Klaus deflates slightly. God, he just wants to go to _bed_. He wants to sleep for like, a year. Maybe two. If they make it to next week, he’s going to find the nearest hospice and bribe them into putting him in a coma for a while. He thinks he deserves it, as a treat. “Just drinking, though. Look, do you know where the aspirin is or not? Because if you don’t, I swear to god I’m gonna break into the morphine Pogo’s got in the infirmary, and the rest of that sobriety is goin’ out the fuckin’ window.”

“Top shelf, next to the crackers,” Luther says, a little panicked, and Klaus feels just a twinge guilty for the crack about the morphine. Just a twinge. But using his powers of The Force (if the Force were fueled by the souls of the damned, or however his thing works) to summon the pill bottle more than makes up for the guilt, and he quickly shakes out two pills, swallowing them dry.

He returns the bottle to its rightful place, and turns back to find Luther staring at him. He’s starting to get sick of all the staring.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” He says, and heads back to his room, ignoring Luther’s frantic attempt to apologize.

His childhood bedroom is open and airy thanks to his impulsive annexation of Vanya’s room two days after she’d left for music school. He’s surprised Dad hadn’t bothered to put the wall back up, seeing as how the demolition had been the last straw before Klaus was thrown out on his ass.

But open and airy means cold, and as he shucks his clothes down to his undershirt and crawls under the nest of blankets on the bed, he shivers uncontrollably. He’d always run cold, his entire life, but after the Apocalypse his body seems hell-bent on its best imitation of an actual corpse. They’d debated moving down somewhere warmer a few times, maybe California or Arizona, but each and every time they had stuck on the same point: this was their home. They knew they had supplies, food (thanks to Klaus’ ‘sobriety garden’, as Ben called it), and shelter here. Even if they could somehow wrangle up a car and luck out finding gas stations that still worked, there was no guarantee they would find anything approaching habitable anywhere else. So they had stayed, and Klaus had done his best to bundle up.

He burrows a little farther under the covers, and does his best to fall asleep.

Five doesn’t sleep much that night. Instead, he lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he replays his conversation with Vanya over and over in his mind, wondering where he lost her. He fully realizes that what happened to him, Klaus, and Ben is extraordinary and convoluted, but when has anything in the Hargreeves family’s lives been simple? Been normal? And yes, Dad _had_ said time-travel could mess with the mind, but he’d been wrong. The only effects Five’s method of travel has on him are exhaustion and hunger, but his spatial jumps work much the same way, if on a smaller scale.

When they were kids, Vanya had always been the one he had come to when he had a problem. She’d always had an open ear, always put up with his nonsensical rants, always kept his secrets, and he’d tried to be the same for her. Ben was the sibling he was next closest to, for his quiet, reserved nature (a breath of fresh air, compared to the chaos of the rest of their family) and healthy appreciation of literature, but Vanya had been who he bounced ideas off of. Vanya was the one who didn’t shy away from conflict if she thought it was the best way to solve a problem. Ben had changed, of course, but somehow, despite Vanya’s book, Five had expected her to be the same sensitive, crafty little girl hiding behind her bangs and violin.

Instead, he’d found a bitter, lonely woman, resigned to her fate as background noise in other people’s lives, still hiding behind her violin. He’s not really sure why he’d thought she could help, anyway. While it is true that the smallest of actions can radically alter the timeline, he just can’t quite see how a third-chair violinist and former bestselling author could save the world. Maybe that’s harsh, but he has to be pragmatic here. There are only seven days left before the world ends, and if he fails, he dies with his family. Better than dying alone, he supposes, but all the same, he’d rather not.

Something he has not let himself think too much about is the fact that, if the world does still end in a week, Klaus will be alone. He doesn’t know if pulling a version of himself from the time-stream will change things enough to keep his child-self from showing up the day after, but even if he knew for sure that the thirteen-year-old Five would be coming back around, he’s not sure he can handle being responsible for making Klaus live through that a second time. Failure isn’t an option. So he has to be pragmatic. There’s no space for hurt feelings, no time to waste, and despite Klaus’ insistence, no need for social niceties. If they fail, no one is going to be around to care that Five was short with them. If they don’t, Five can deal with the fallout later. He needs his brain power for other, more important things.

As the sun comes over the horizon, illuminating the chalkboard walls of his attic room (still scrawled with his original attempts at formulating time-travel), he turns the glass eye over and over in his fingers. He’s had the serial number memorized for decades now, etched the exact pattern of veins so deep into his brain he doesn’t think it’ll ever fade. He knows precisely how large the pupil is, the way the sunlight reflects off the dark brown iris, even how heavy the prosthetic is. But he still studies it every chance he gets. Klaus calls it an unhealthy obsession; Five calls it due diligence. No matter how many times he checks it, he’s never quite sure he’s revealed all its secrets, hoping that somehow a crack in the enamel will tell them everything they need to know about the owner. It’s not a realistic hope, but for a long time it was the only one he had.

Klaus had tried his psychometric thing on it hundreds of times, trying to bring forth the owner’s spirit, but like the rest of the ghosts produced by the Apocalypse, they’d been unreachable. Klaus describes the spirit world like a complex telephone switchboard, and these missing spirits as cables that won’t fit in the port no matter how hard he tries to cram them in. Klaus also says this metaphor is horse shit, but that it sounds neat and he can’t actually describe how the other side operates because there just isn’t anything comparable. Five thinks he just hasn’t tried hard enough to understand it. This particular point of contention has caused and drawn out more arguments over the years than Five cares to think about, and despite it ending the same way each time (in a silent, furious stalemate), it’s still one of Five’s greatest annoyances.

When the alarm on his bedside table finally goes off, he returns the eye to its pouch, dresses, and heads down to the kitchen. Shit. Still no coffee.

And Dad’s car isn’t in the alley. Whatever, there’s a store not far from the Academy, and he doesn’t have arthritis, yet.

He gets some odd looks as he marches briskly through the streets, and it’s not until he’s walking back, prize held tightly in hand, that he remembers why. Looking like a schoolboy is going to get annoying fast.

Klaus still hasn’t come downstairs when he returns, but there are people in the kitchen.

“Hello, Five,” Mom says, glancing up from the frying pan with a warm, but slightly off-kilter smile. Something’s definitely wrong with her programming, but, as with the rest of Five’s new worries, there are bigger fish to fry. “Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” He says. Alright, no matter what Klaus insists, niceties aren’t his biggest priority, _except_ when it comes to Mom. He just can’t bring himself to be short with her.

“It’s no trouble at all, silly!” She laughs. “Why don’t you join your sister at the table? I’m making bacon and eggs for her, but I can whip something else up, if you’d prefer.”

“No, that sounds fine,” He says. Hesitantly, he holds out the bag of coffee. “Would you mind making coffee, too?”

She tsks at him, but takes the bag all the same. “Caffeine will stunt your growth, you know,” She sets it on the counter and returns to her cooking. “You want to grow up big and strong like your siblings, don’t you?”

“He’s already taller than Vanya, Mom,” Allison says. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Mom sighs, muttering something about incorrigible children, and Five sits across the table from Allison, though he doesn’t remain still for long. Under-caffeinated and over-tired as he is, he’s still brimming with nervous energy. The fate of the world depends on his actions today, and he can’t help but hope that the whole thing will be over and dealt with by sundown. It should be simple, just walking into MeriTech with the eye, getting the name of its owner, and tracking down the bastard. And then he’ll have all the time in the world to sleep, to get to know his family, to sit still. He wishes time would move a little faster so he could skip to that part, but he can’t lie and pretend that he isn’t looking forward to getting a little revenge on the eye’s owner. Pre-venge? He’s not sure of the semantics, nor of whether they mean anything.

“What’s got you up so early?” Allison asks. She’s still in her pajamas, wrapped in a floral-print bath robe and wearing her hair in braids. Five longs for the comfort of his pajamas; the Academy’s uniform is stiff and scratchy, and while it does a fair job of insulating him against the chill of the drafty mansion, the pajamas are still cozier. Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure a child in pajamas will be taken even less seriously than one in a school uniform, and the bar there is barely off the ground.

“Things to do,” He says. His leg won’t stop bouncing under the table. He tries to quell it, but the energy finds other ways out, drumming his fingers on the table-top or pushing them through his once perfectly-styled hair. “What about you? Don’t movie stars get to sleep in late, or something?”

She snorts out a laugh, but something in her expression seems less than amused.

“I’m actually… taking a break from that, right now,” She says carefully. “After my last project wrapped, I just- decided I needed to reprioritize.”

“Is one of your new priorities waking up with the sun?”

“I thought it’d be best if I tried to get a flight back to LA as early as possible,” She says.

“Oh,” He says. The fidgeting stops. Hadn’t she stayed in town, the first time? Has his arrival really shook up the timeline this much already? And while Allison perhaps hadn’t been his favorite sibling (not after she’d rumored him into jumping as far away as his powers would allow so that she’d get the library to herself, leaving him stranded three towns over too exhausted to move), he’d still missed her. Still looked forward to the potential to reconnect. To getting to know how she’d changed in the sixteen years since he’d run away.

“You should come visit sometime,” She says. “If you’re not too busy, that is. With your things that need doing.”

“One way or another, I’ll be out of plans at the end of the week,” He says. She looks like she wants to interrogate him further, but Mom helpfully distracts her by setting down two steaming plates of breakfast in front of them, stepping away only for a moment before returning with a fresh cup of coffee for Five.

“Eat up!” She announces, turning away and humming to herself as she sets about tidying up. It’s a strangely familiar tune, though Five can’t place it for the life of him. Something French, he thinks. Klaus would know what song it is, but Klaus is still upstairs, hopefully getting enough sleep for the both of them.

Allison doesn’t try to make conversation for the rest of breakfast, and excuses herself without much fanfare once her plate is clean save for a single strip of bacon that Five snatches up once Mom’s back is turned. He’s not even hungry, after finishing his own meal, but food doesn’t get wasted. He’s missed far too many meals to think about so much as tossing a crumb.

Mom leaves not long after, pressing a kiss to the crown of Five’s head as she leaves, still humming that tune that he can’t name to save his life as her heels click against the tile, then down the wood floors of the hallway before drifting entirely out of earshot. He sips his coffee, refilling it periodically from the carafe she had left for him, and waits for Klaus to stumble his way downstairs.

The grandfather clock in the living room tolls half-past nine before he can’t make himself wait any longer, and he sets off for MeriTech alone.

Klaus wakes to Five ripping the blankets off of him, and falls out of bed with a shriek, struggling upright and rubbing the back of his skull where it had hit the hard wood floor, somehow missing the dozens of pillows tossed about the room.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Five says, tossing the stolen blanket back onto the mess of the bed. “Get dressed. I need you to talk some sense into the idiots at MeriTech.”

“You went without me?” Klaus yawns, still prodding the tender spot carefully. Satisfied that it won’t start to swell, he lets the hand fall into his lap.

“It’s eleven,” Five says. “I waited long enough.”

Klaus can’t really argue with that, even if he is still a little put-out at the fact Five had ditched him to do the one thing they’d been planning on for nearly fifty years. He doesn’t think he’s slept this late or this long in… how long had they been working for the Commission? Four years?

“I was going to surprise you with our perpetrator’s name, but they wouldn’t give me any information,” Five continues. “Something about patient confidentiality.”

“And I’m supposed to help how?” Klaus asks. “Why don’t you just blink in there and rummage through their files?”

“They’ve got good security,” Five says uncomfortably. Realization dawns all too slowly in Klaus’ still sleep-addled brain.

“You threatened someone,” He sighs. Five shifts from foot to foot, avoiding his gaze, and that’s all the confirmation Klaus needs, really. “Fine, I’ll clean up your mess, but I think we need to have another talk about your manners, buddy.”

Five swats the back of his head, Klaus swats back, and things sort of devolve from there until Vanya sticks her head through the door to find them struggling to put each other in a headlock at the same time.

“Sorry,” She says. “Am I interrupting something?”

Klaus, having been preparing himself to bite Five’s arm, smiles innocently up at her, which is all the distraction Five needs to pin him to the floor, standing triumphantly with a foot on his chest.

“Dirty cheat,” Klaus mutters.

“Nothing important,” Five says, pressing his heel a little harder on Klaus’ sternum. “Sorry we left without saying goodbye, last night.”

“No, I should be the one to apologize,” Vanya says. “I was dismissive, and I- I guess I just didn’t know how to process what you were saying. I still don’t, honestly.”

“Maybe you were right to be dismissive,” Five says. He releases Klaus to join Vanya in the hallway, and their voices fade as they leave. Klaus takes a minute to catch his breath before honoring his promise to Five by getting dressed.

Unfortunately, his blazer has one hell of a bloody stain on it. He eyes the offending wound with reproach, then scans the room for a suitable replacement, scratching idly at the scab. He picks up a ruffled blouse, considering it for a long moment. It _had_ been his nicest shirt, at this point in his life, but somehow he doesn’t think Five will appreciate its majesty, and it’s not exactly what a Respectable Adult would wear to an Important Meeting, because Respectable Adults are _boring_.

“What is that?” Five asks, reappearing in his doorway and crinkling his nose at the shirt, still bunched in Klaus’ hands.

“It’s my nicest outfit!” Klaus protests as Five snatches it away from him, tossing it into the corner.

“What happened to your suit?”

“You’ll never believe it, but a psychotic toddler shanked me while I was passed out in a pool of my own brain matter,” Klaus says. “I hear blood is bad for fabric.” Five rolls his eyes.

“We’ll just have to steal one of Dad’s suits, then,” He says.

Diego’s spent worse nights in lockup. At least last night, he’d been relatively alone, with only one or two of the usual regulars as company, and neither of them had been interested in much more than sleeping. He wakes in a relatively good mood, and Rodriguez is as friendly as ever when he walks him to Eudora’s desk.

His good mood starts to sour when they rehash the same argument they’ve had a million times. One would think that she’d tire of it, or at least try to see his side of things for _once_ , but she’s stubborn as anything and knows exactly how her morals shake out. He’d found that endearing, once. Still does, even if it annoys him more often than not.

They end the argument the same way as always, with her getting in one last dig at how he’s just trying to live up to the standards Dad set for him (he’s _not_ , it’s just that one of the few things he’d seen eye-to-eye with his father on is the protection of the innocent, and what’s he gonna do, let his powers go to waste when he knows he can do something?), and he prepares himself to leave when she throws a curveball at him.

“Look,” She says with a weary sigh. “I wouldn’t even be telling you this, but- you remember that biohazard near the door?”

“Yeah,” He says slowly. Someone had got their brains blown out. He’s a little too familiar with the mess that leaves behind.

“We identified the victim,” She says. “It wasn’t one of the gunmen.”

“So, who was it?”

She pulls a file out of a drawer and slides it across her desk to him.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “Really, Diego.”

He flicks the folder open, revealing a rap sheet he’s had memorized for twelve years.

Klaus’ first mugshot stares back up at him, pouting at the camera like his picture’s being taken for another magazine, instead of because he’d got caught with an eight-ball walking back to the Academy, nose bloody and eye bruised from a fight with Luther that morning. Diego can’t remember what they’d been so worked up over, just that this arrest hadn’t done anything to smooth things over between them.

“There wasn’t a body,” He says, but his brain is already working in overdrive, connecting the evidence he’d ignored last night; the waitress- Annie, or something- had mentioned a man about his age, and his odd son. He hadn’t thought much of it, except that she was right in thinking it was weird the kid ordered coffee (especially that late at night), but now that he knows Klaus was there- it’s not hard to finish the puzzle. And while it’s true that there had been no body at the scene, Five wouldn’t exactly have had to carry him out, would he?

“People don’t just walk away from an injury like that,” She says, sympathetic in a way he would call pity coming from anyone else. “The waitress said he was there with his son; you never mentioned a nephew.”

“I don’t have one,” He flips the file closed again, unable to force himself to keep staring at the young, carefree (relatively speaking) version of his brother. His potentially dead brother. He won’t allow himself to accept the evidence; he’s lost too many people already, and Klaus had seemed pretty dead in the courtyard too, hadn’t he? Diego’s not an idiot, he knows how to check for signs of life, and Klaus had had exactly zero of them for the terrifying thirty seconds before his eyes had opened.

“What the hell was Klaus doing with a kid, then?” She frowns, returning the file to its home.

“Our brother came home last night,” He says. “The one that went missing when we were kids. Said he messed up his time-travel.”

“Of course,” She sighs. “Look, it’s likely that _he_ made it out, and I really hate to ask a favor, under the circumstances-“

“If I get my hands on the little bastard, he’s not going to be much good for questioning,” He says.

“He’s a kid, Diego,” She says.

“He’s fifty-eight,” He corrects. She just sighs at him again.

“Please don’t murder my witnesses,” She says. “And try to take it easy, okay? I know this is hard, but-“

“Don’t,” He snaps, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to center himself. His first breath since opening the file. He opens his eyes again, and he really, _really_ wishes he could just brush off her expression as pity, that he could get angry with her for it, but she knows him. And he knows her. “Fine. I’ll bring him by if I find him.”

“Thank you,” She says.

“Well,” Five says, the two of them beating a hasty retreat from the doors of the lab before Grant or whoever can call the cops. “This is not good.”

“Really?” Klaus hums. “I thought I was pretty great in there. ‘What about my consent, _biitch_!’”

“Klaus, it doesn’t matter,” Five snaps. “Someone’s going to lose an eye in the next seven days, and we still don’t know who it is, _and_ they know our faces now.”

“So we just sit on the building, keep an eye out for pirates,” Klaus says. Five shakes his head, jaw working as he seethes. “Don’t worry, buddy. There’s still time!”

“Would you cut that out?” Five growls.

“What?”

“You’re treating me like a child,” Five says. “Everyone is, which is bad enough, but you _know_ me. What part of the last forty-five years makes you think I need to be coddled?”

“Jeez, grumpy,” Klaus holds his hands up in surrender as Five turns a truly venomous glare on him. “Sorry! I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Five’s ire lessens slightly, his shoulders slumping as they sit on a bench to wait for the bus. He’d been hoping they could take the car, but someone else in the house had needed it this morning, apparently.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asks.

“What do you think?” Five scrubs his hands over his face, covering a yawn somewhat ineffectively. “How about you?”

“Same as always,” A few hours here and there, until the demands of the dead, nightmares, or panic woke him; another few hours trying to get back to sleep, cycling until either he gets sick of it or he decides he has more important things to do. It used to be that he’d sleep through the night, but it also used to be that he dosed himself with enough shit to put out an elephant before so much as thinking about crawling into bed.

“We should try to rest up as much as we can,” Five says. “We can start staking out the building tomorrow morning.”

“And if our sea-fairing friend pops by today?” Klaus asks.

“Lance said the eye hadn’t even been made yet,” Five says. “Were you listening at all?”

“Honestly?” Klaus brushes bits of glass out of his hair. “I don’t think I really processed much after breaking the snow globe on my face. Does the damage make me look mysterious?”

“You look like you lost a fight with a cat,” Five says. Klaus sticks his tongue out at him. “Like I said, we use the rest of today to recuperate, and then we can get back to work.”

“Ugh, boring,” Klaus huffs. They climb aboard the bus, taking slightly longer than Klaus would like to dig out their fare, and get themselves prime seats that only smell a little extremely funky.

Klaus really hasn’t missed public transportation much. They’d rarely used it while working corrections, preferring to steal or buy a vehicle of their own, but the few times they had stick out in his mind as not exactly what you might call pleasant experiences. Hangovers and diesel fumes don’t mix well, for a start.

Speaking of, he pulls a flask from the inner pocket of his blazer and takes a long swig before offering it to Five, who swats it away with a meaningful glance at the other passengers, none of whom are paying them the slightest attention. Shrugging, he returns it to its place. It’s not like he hadn’t been doing much worse in public view at Five’s apparent age, something his brother is wildly aware of, having been the one to shield him from prying eyes on more than one occasion.

“You should try to quit again,” Five says a while later, quiet enough that he can barely hear it over the rumble of the engine and the squeal of the brakes as they pull up to a stop, where two businesswomen and their deceased friend board. The dead one pays her fare, seemingly unaware of the fact that the money dematerializes from even her plane of reality the moment it leaves her hand.

“You first, old man,” Klaus says. Five scowls at him.

“ _My_ powers don’t get affected by it,” He says. “And _I_ don’t drink on the job.”

“They’re not that affected,” Klaus grumbles. And it’s true, now that he actually knows how to access all his abilities, has decades of practice under his belt, drinking doesn’t even make it harder for him to use them. He hasn’t tested it with anything else, but he’d made a promise to Ben, and he’s not heartless enough to break that. Not when Ben understood exactly what he was asking of Klaus, and hadn’t even actually been making him promise. Just told him to be careful if he started using again, since his dead ass wouldn’t be around to keep an eye on him.

“Right, what happened at the diner last night had nothing to do with it,” Five scoffs.

“That _was_ weird, wasn’t it?” Klaus traces a finger over a bit of graffiti etched into the plastic of the seat in front of them, wondering if he’d thrown up on this bus before or something, because the longer he stares at it, the more nauseous he becomes. He feels hot and clammy, and not unlike his skin is too small for his body. He closes his eyes as the bus lurches, trying to swallow down the bile.

“You okay?” Five asks.

Klaus dives for the stop cord, a hand pressed over his mouth, and barely makes it to the stop’s trash can before he can’t hold it back any longer. There’s not much to come up, since all he’s eaten in the past day is a donut, coffee, alcohol, and aspirin (the diet of champions), but he retches for a concerning amount of time. Every time he leans over, the smell of rotting garbage hits him, and the coppery taste in his mouth returns in full force, creating one hell of an endless feedback loop until Five pulls him away and forces him to take a seat on the curb.

“What’s going on?” He asks, kneeling in front of Klaus and carefully inspecting him. For what, Klaus isn’t sure, but it seems to involve an awful lot of checking his eyes. “Your pupils are blown. Did you get a concussion, or something?”

“When would I have time to do that?” Klaus laughs without much amusement. Fuck, it’s cold outside. And Dad’s stupid suit, now soaked with his sweat, isn’t much help. He suppresses a shiver, wrapping the blazer tightly around himself. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was dying.”

Five freezes, staring at him and mouthing the words back, and Klaus wants nothing more than to vomit again when understanding brains him like a sock full of quarters in a dark alley. How many times had he said those exact words before? How many times had they been spoken because he felt _exactly_ like this?

“But I didn’t take anything!” He whines. “I’ve been sober, man! And there’s no _way_ it’s the booze, I haven’t gone cold turkey or anything.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Five deadpans. He drops his head with a sigh. “Shit. Fuck. Something weird must have happened when we came back.”

Klaus wordlessly pulls back the sleeve of the blazer and extends his unmarred, braceleted wrist to Five, who traces his fingers over the plastic cautiously, like he can’t quite believe it.

“And you’ve got all your fingers,” Five says.

“ _And_ toes,” Klaus says, waggling them despite the fact that they’re well obscured by his shoes. “But I’ve still got most of my scars.”

“Most?”

“Probably all of them, I haven’t exactly run an inventory,”

Five gets to his feet and begins to pace, muttering quietly to himself.

“Right,” Klaus claps his hands together after it becomes clear that they’ll be sitting here all day if he doesn’t intervene. The sound rattles his eyeballs, somehow. “Right! Well. Um.”

“If you were actually the version of you that’s meant to be here, at this point in the timeline, you’d be on all kinds of things,” Five supplies helpfully.

“I guess my bodies got… mushed together?” Klaus stares down at his hands, which he’s tangled the fingers of together to illustrate his point. “So I get my fingies back, but also the _lovely_ experience of withdrawals, without any of the fun beforehand.”

“That would be a tidy explanation for it,” Five agrees. “I just- the thing is- shouldn’t you drinking… mitigate it, or something?”

“It should,” Klaus says. “But I don’t think we’re exactly operating within normal framework here, man.”

“No shit,” Five says. He glances down the somewhat busy street, eyeing the passersby menacingly as they rubberneck at the pair of them. It has the effect of sending some of them on their way a little faster, and making others stare longer. “C’mon, another bus should be arriving soon.”

“No more _bus_ ,” Klaus groans, imagining the horrific effects the unsteady movement will have on his still-delicate stomach. “Busses are evil and I _hate_ them.”

“Well, it’s either that or we walk the rest of the way,” Five says.

“Where are we, anyway?” Klaus squints through the headache and nausea, trying to spot a street sign. Wherever they are, it’s pretty familiar, but he just can’t quite place it. Maybe it’d be easier if there were more burning piles of rubble, a few skeletons. One of his murals from that summer he’d got really into tagging.

“Sycamore and Jefferson,” Five says. “That’s… maybe a half mile?”

“Thereabouts,” Klaus says. He struggles to his feet, grateful when Five takes one of his arms, wrapping it around his tiny shoulders to take some of the weight off of Klaus’ uncoordinated feet, and they carefully make their way towards home. They only have to stop twice for him to retch into a storm drain, and he sets a personal record by only asking Five to put him out of his misery once.

Five unceremoniously dumps him in his room before vanishing into the labyrinthine bowels of the Academy, off to do god knows what. Klaus can’t quite find it in him to care, more preoccupied with swapping his sweat-soaked clothes for (relatively) cleaner ones and wrapping himself in two of the thickest blankets he can find. Mrs. Stewart, a deceased nanny of theirs, gurgles sympathetically at him. Despite her head being on backwards, she’s one of the nicest ghosts Klaus has ever met, and she’d been invaluable in teaching him how to keep Five alive the first few years of the Apocalypse. During the brief periods where he’d been sober enough to see her, anyway.

“Jesus,” Ben swears, stopping halfway through the door when he spots her.

“Don’t be rude, Benjamin,” Klaus scolds. “They can’t all be as lucky as you, with your intactness and whatnot.”

“Sorry, I just-“ Ben says. “It’s not important. What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that,” Klaus flaps his hand. “A few other things.”

“Your level of description astounds me,” Ben says. “What happened to your face? You try to befriend a raccoon again?”

“In my defense, I was on lethal amounts of molly when I tried that, if memory serves. But no, I broke a snow globe on my face, for your information,” Klaus says. Ben stares at him. “It was a wonderfully effective intimidation tactic. You should try it sometime.”

“Think I’ll pass,” Ben finally finishes entering the room, settling on the floor on a pouf opposite the one Klaus is hovering a few inches above. Klaus is the king of managing detox symptoms; he’s got blankets for the chills, air flow for the hot flashes, and the bathroom is only a few hundred feet away. The only thing that’s missing is a jug of water and enough ibuprofen to kill an elephant, but he can manage just fine without them. He’d rather not, but he _can_. “You look like shit.”

“Aw, you big flatterer,” Klaus says, batting his eyelashes. “What do you want, anyway? I thought you were off, y’know, hating my guts, or whatever. Brooding. Being emo.”

Ben looks away sheepishly, avoiding his gaze as he answers.

“I’m still pissed,” He says. “But… I guess I just- I mean, the other ghosts-“

“You didn’t realize how bad it is when I’m sober?” Klaus supplies. Ben nods uncomfortably, finally looking back at him. “Yeah, guess I never gave you the chance to find out.”

“Don’t act like it was for my benefit,” Ben snaps.

“You’re right, it wasn’t,” Klaus drifts slowly to the floor and pulls his blood-stained blazer towards him, rummaging in the pockets for his cigarette case. Unfortunately for him, it seems to have fallen out at some point. Frustrated, he throws the blazer with as much force as he can muster. Stupid jacket. Stupid cigarette case. What’s this, the fifth one he’s lost this year? He’d _liked_ that one, too. “It was for mine. So, if I tell you I was being selfish and I was completely in the wrong like I _always_ am, oh how I wish I had listened to you dearest Benny, will you get over yourself?”

“That’s not fair,” Ben says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Klaus says. Ben frowns, but doesn’t argue.

Maybe he’s being unnecessarily bitchy, and maybe he should expend some effort being understanding, but he’s already been through this with Ben, and it had sucked the first time, and the start of what’s promising to be a fairly miserable detox is not the time to rehash it.

He stands, letting the blankets drop to the floor, and rummages in his old backpack, hoping his younger self hadn’t been out of nicotine. As luck would have it, there _is_ a cigarette case in the bottom of the bag. As _his_ luck would have it, it’s almost entirely filled with joints. He can’t pretend he isn’t tempted, and honestly, weed was always the least terrible thing he put in his body, and even Ben had eventually caved and let him grow it in his sobriety garden for when things got _really_ bad, but… If he’s being honest, he’s feeling just petty enough to make Ben sweat out this detox with him. He’d missed the guy- so bad it hurt, actually- but missing someone doesn’t make them any less irritating to deal with when you finally reunite, and it had taken a hell of a long time for Ben to mellow out.

Plus, Five might try to weasel one out of him if he catches wind of it, and he just isn’t feeling up to trying to convince him that thirteen year-olds, no matter how geriatric they are, shouldn’t be smoking anything. _He’d_ been smoking at thirteen, and for a few years before, but he isn’t exactly Mr. Good-Decisions, as Ben would be all too happy to point out.

He pulls one of the actual cigarettes out of the case, then flips it closed and tosses it back into the bag before realizing he still doesn’t have a way to light it. He sticks the filter in his mouth and glares around the room.

“Did I take all my lighters when I left?” He mutters, hands on his hips and shivering slightly in the drafty room.

“Why would I know?” Ben rolls his eyes.

“Not talking to you,” Klaus swats the words away. He zeroes in on the vanity, and starts rummaging through the drawers. There’s a lot of makeup (stolen from Allison), rolling papers (stolen from the gas station down the street), hair clips (stolen from Vanya), crumpled homework he’d never turned in, crumpled homework he _had_ turned in, expired condoms (his half of the box he and Diego had furtively purchased during an Academy outing, or more accurately his quarter after Allison had weaseled a portion out of him), and a positively ancient blotter of acid he’d bought before realizing that he really didn’t need to make himself see _more_ things that weren’t visible to other people. But no lighter, or matches. Hell, he’d take a flint and some steel, at this point. Two sticks. A magnifying glass and a leaf.

A soft rap on the doorframe distracts him from his search, and he rounds to face the intruder with as much drama as he can inject into the movement, expecting it to be Five, itching to get back to work.

“Hey,” Allison says. “I didn’t know you were sticking around.”

“Allison!” He cries, the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, only sticking due to the moisture from holding it there. “Well, you know me, good ol’ unpredictable Klaus. Always subverting your expectations.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look so hot,” She says, eyeing his ‘fresh’ clothes- already uncomfortably damp with sweat- with more concern than he’s seen from her since they were barely teenagers.

“Right as rain!” He says, as cheerfully as he can. He _does_ feel better than he had on the bus, but that’s not saying much. “Hey, do you have a lighter? Mine’s busted, and I can’t find a spare.”

“You know Pogo and Mom don’t like us smoking inside,” She says. “I’ve got one in my purse you can use, _if_ I can join you.”

“Perfect,” He sighs. “I’ll get my coat.”

She raps the doorframe with her knuckles once more before vanishing down the hall, leaving him to sort through the mess of textiles littering his floor for something resembling weather-appropriate outerwear. He kicks a chiffon robe out of the way, along with his ‘best outfit’, but no dice.

“You were wearing your coat before you came through Five’s portal,” Allison says, reappearing in the doorway. She sighs, staring at the pile of clothing and blankets. “I’m never getting that skirt back, am I?”

“Probably not,” He agrees. “What do you think even happened to that outfit, anyway? Like, is it in clothes hell or something? Do clothes believe in an afterlife? Oh my god, did clothes Jesus die for their sins?!”

“ _Klaus_ ,” She laughs, trying and failing to sound chastising.

“What? It’s a valid question!” He settles for grabbing his blood-stained blazer, tugging it on before cramming his feet into a ratty pair of sneakers. He grabs the cigarette case after a moment’s hesitation, replacing the one he’d selected earlier for safekeeping and figuring he probably owes Allison one of the few remaining in exchange for this. Smoking etiquette being what it is, and all. Maybe. It’s been a hot minute since he had someone to smoke _with_ , instead of _at_. He offers his arm to her, and they link elbows as they walk through the hall. “ _I_ vote we go stink up Dad’s office, but since you have _opinions_ about smoking indoors, you decide.”

“God, Luther would kill us,” She giggles. Imagining Luther’s face at finding the two of them smoking in there sends Klaus on the edge of hysterics, and he has to fight to quell the nausea that the sudden laughter brings. She pats his arm reassuringly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, you know me,” He flashes what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Just a little under the weather, that’s all.”

“You’re not going to infect me with some weird future-flu, are you?” She asks.

“And give your antibodies a leg up on the competition? I think not, _mon soeur,_ ” He says haughtily. She giggles again, and something warm settles in his chest. Again, he wonders how he could’ve forgotten this, the sound of his sister’s laugh. “No, it’s nothing contagious. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Now, back to the matter at hand: location?”

“We could go for a walk,” She suggests. “The weather’s not half-bad today.”

“That sounds acceptable,” He turns to Ben, who’s been trailing just behind them. “What do you think, Benny-boy?”

“Oh, so you’re considering my opinion now?” Ben says.

Allison stops in her tracks, and Klaus stumbles in his efforts to halt without falling over.

“That’s _so_ not funny, Klaus,” She says, pulling away and wrapping her arms around herself. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you- _God_. I can’t believe you.”

“Huh?” He blinks. She glares at him. He connects the dots. “Oh. Oh, I never told you guys?”

“Told us what?” She demands.

“I mean, I guess I sort of figured you guys knew? Seeing dead people is my whole ‘thing’ or whatever, y’know. Oh, shit. Shit,” He bites his thumb, mind racing as he tries to piece together the best way to explain everything without, well, explaining _everything_. “So, Ben’s my ghost bitch- Ow!”

He smacks away Ben’s hand as he reaches over to flick Klaus’ ear again.

“Cut it out! Jesus, were you born in a barn?” He sighs. “Okay. Shit. Can we do this over a cigarette? I need to- to figure out how to make it make sense, I guess.”

“You need time to think up a convincing lie,” She ‘corrects’.

“No! Jesus!” He throws up his hands. “Look, Ben died, and now he won’t stop haunting my ass-“

“Because you pulled me away from the light,” Ben mutters. It doesn’t have much impact, since Klaus knows Ben hadn’t wanted to go into it anyway, but this Ben doesn’t know that Klaus knows and- ugh, _time-travel_.

“And he’s very, very annoying,” Klaus finishes. “And I could _swear_ I told you guys.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see how you expect me to believe you,” She scoffs. “After everything you’ve pulled, over the years? Not to mention that you can’t see shit when you’re high-“

“Except Ben,” He interjects. She raises an eyebrow. “God, trust me, I _know_ how it sounds. I know what you guys think of me. But just- fuck, you’re not gonna ‘just trust me on this’, huh?”

She shakes her head.

He sighs.

“Ask me something only Ben would know,” He says.

“Do I get a say in this?” Ben asks wearily. Klaus hisses at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Allison says. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did Ben program my Teddy Ruxpin to say?”

“You reprogrammed her Teddy Ruxpin?” Klaus asks. Ben giggles.

“‘Luther sniffs Dad’s underwear’,” He sing-songs. Klaus snorts, then relays the message.

“Oh my god,” Allison breathes. She laughs, a little hysterically. “Ben?”

“Hey,” Ben waves, a tight, sad smile on his face. “This asshole won’t materialize me.”

“Get your tummy roommates under control and we’ll play happy family all you like,” Klaus retorts.

“What?” Allison blinks.

“Long story,” He says. “And one we will have time for _later_. Anyway. Shall we walk?”

He offers his arm to her once again, and she takes it after only a moment’s hesitation, glancing around the hall, trying to catch a glimpse of their dead brother to no avail.

“You have any more bombshells you want to drop on me while you’re at it?” She asks once the door to the Academy is firmly shut behind them and they’ve started on their way through the city.

Klaus cackles. Oh, if she only knew.

“Well, I got sober,” He says. “Ish. I got sober, and then some bullshit happened, and now I’m what the kids call a ‘functioning alcoholic’.”

He does his best attempt at scare quotes without unthreading his arm from hers. It’s not terribly effective.

“That’s…” She hesitates.

“Better?” He supplies. She nods. “Yeah, in a way. Five wants me to quit, now that we’re back.”

“Will you?” She asks.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” He says. Although, if he’s already detoxing, what’s another substance to withdraw from? Feeling a little more miserable is nothing compared to the difference between miserable and normal. On the other hand, he could _not_ feel a little more miserable. He doesn’t need to draw this out, when they have such a tight deadline looming ahead. Yeah, that’s a problem for future-Klaus. “Lighter?”

While she rummages in her purse for the lighter, he extracts the slightly-squished cigarette from its case along with a spare, which she offers to her, only to find her holding one of her own between her teeth.

“Alli!” He gasps. “You delinquent! Didn’t you tell that magazine you quit?”

“You read my interviews?” She asks. “How the hell do you remember that?”

“There wasn’t a ton of reading material around,” He shrugs, ignoring her inquisitive expression in favor of lighting his cigarette. As his fingers curl around the plastic, he gets flashes of memories that don’t belong to him- mostly emotion. Mostly grief, and anger. He drops it back into her outstretched hand, glad for how the feelings vanish when he does. “Sorry about Patrick, by the way.”

She lights her own smoke and takes a drag before replying.

“Yeah, well,” She says. The lighter vanishes back into the black hole of her purse. “It wasn’t all his fault, I guess.”

“Oh,” He says. Allison, admitting guilt for something? He never thought he’d live (debatably speaking) to see the day. “It’s still shit, though. Especially with Claire.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, staring resolutely at the shop windows as they walk past. “I was just telling Luther: I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this much.”

“I can’t imagine,” He knows what she means. “You’ll see her again, though, right?”

“Eventually,” She says. “I have to do this stupid court-mandated therapy thing before I get visitation. I missed _one_ session to come to Dad’s funeral, and now Patrick’s threatening to take me back to court! Like, I’m sorry my family tragedy didn’t neatly fit into the schedule?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a tragedy,” He says. She snorts, looking back at him with a wry smile on her face. “Oh, come _on_. Dad was a bastard, through and through! You know how I figured out I’d hit rock bottom? I started _missing_ him!”

She laughs, coughing a bit as the smoke forces its way out.

That had been a dark moment, just a few months after being kicked out of the Academy, but like most of his lowest points, it makes for a good joke. He still remembers how cold that night had been, how his skin had split in the dry air, leaving him bloody and frozen as he huddled for warmth in the doorway of a bookshop. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, trying to shake off the cold that still haunts him.

He doesn’t think he’s managed to fully warm up since. The wind whipping at the sweat under his jacket isn’t helping.

“Hey,” She says, gesturing with her chin at something across the street.

“Hm?” He looks up lazily, struggling to pull himself out of his head.

“Remember when we used to sneak out?” She asks. “And we’d cut through the park on our way to the diner?”

He follows her eyeline to the park in question. He wishes he could say it looks familiar, but time hasn’t been kind to his memory.

“Yeah,” He lies with a smile.

“I wonder if it’s still there,” She hums, stabbing out her filter and depositing it in a trash can as they stroll past. “God, my stupid trainer had me on this _horrible_ diet for my last movie. I don’t think I’ve had sugar in six months. Should we get donuts?”

“Uh,” His brain stalls out in a panic before slowly rebooting, leaving him to scramble for an excuse. His stomach offers a pretty solid one. “I don’t think I should have something that rich right now. Not unless you want to watch me throw up in a storm drain, which I’m told is a delight.”

“Oh,” She says, struggling to hide her disappointment. “We’ll go some other time, then. Are you _sure_ you’re okay? Do you want to head back?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” He insists. “Just a bit queasy.”

“And sweaty,” She teases. He rolls his eyes.

“I’d like to see _you_ make detox look this good,” He says.

“So you _are_ quitting?”

“Ehh,” He waves a hand in a so-so gesture. “Some weird garbage happened when I got slammed into my old body or whatever, is our best guess.”

“Right,” She says. “Very descriptive.”

“I know, I should get a Hugo,” He says. “A Newberry? Shit, I don’t know. Book awards! I deserve them.”

“I’ll get right on nominating you,” She says dryly. “After a speech like that? How could they turn you down?”

They walk for a few more blocks before speaking again.

“Alright, well, _you_ may be fine, but I’m freezing my ass off,” She announces, using her leverage over his arm to turn them around. He shakes his head to clear away the spinning sensation the movement brings. “Should we ask Mom to make us something for lunch?”

“I think I’m going to make a Klaus Detox Special,” He says, only remembering to elaborate when she raises an eyebrow at him. God, talking to people who haven’t been at his side non-stop for forty-plus years is weird. “I’m gonna eat an entire sleeve of saltines and take like, three times the recommended dose of ibuprofen. And then when I puke ten minutes later I’ll do it again! It’s like an ouroboros of nausea and over the counter medication.”

“I’d tell you off for that, but I think that’s the least terrible thing you’ve done to your liver,” She says.

He gasps in mock offense, pulling away to press a hand to his chest dramatically.

“Well I never!” He cries. “Besmirched, attacked by my own kin! That is an unfounded accusation young lady, and I will be contacting my lawyers about this horrendous defamation.”

Yeah, he could get used to hearing her laugh again.


	3. Goody Two-Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus goes to the movies. Cha-Cha and Hazel have questions. Diego makes a bad decision. Klaus makes a mistake. Five loses his cool.

Spending the second day of detox rummaging in a dumpster isn’t what he’d call ideal circumstances, but _apparently_ his idiot younger-self had nicked something out of Dad’s office that had ‘ _important documents’_ in it, and the dumpster behind the Academy is the only place he can imagine he would’ve dumped it. He would’ve just brushed Pogo off, but Five hadn’t come downstairs yet and he was getting antsy, and the only other things he could think of to do seem kind of pointless in comparison to world-saving. This seems kind of pointless too, if he’s being honest.

“Can we go see a movie or something?” Ben complains. “Or the ocean? This sucks.”

“What, garbology isn’t interesting enough for you?” Klaus glares up at him where he’s taken to perching on the corner of the bin. “Besides, we’ve got a world to save. We can have a beach day later.”

“But we have time to play in the trash?” Ben counters.

“Shut up,” Klaus says. “You heard Pogo, these documents were _priceless_.”

“I’d ask what you were doing, Klaus,” Five says, hopping off the ladder of the fire escape with a clatter. Klaus lifts his head so that he can see over the rim of the dumpster, to find his brother dressed identically to yesterday, but carrying a suspicious duffle bag on one shoulder. Stakeout supplies, maybe? Ooh, stakeout snacks. He better have gotten peanut M&M’s this time, none of that regular M&M bullshit. “But then it occurred to me: I don’t care.”

“You know, there are easier ways out of the house, old man,” Klaus says.

“This one involved the least amount of talking,” Five says. “Or so I thought.”

“What, you were gonna ditch me again?” Klaus jokes. Five adjusts the strap of the bag. “You were! You jerk!”

“I didn’t want you to push yourself,” Five says. “Somehow I don’t see spending time in a stuffy van being the most fun while you’re… like this.”

“Rotting from the inside out?” Klaus says. Five grunts noncommittally. “Ugh, you’re _right_ , you considerate little bastard. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’m always right,” Five says. He heads for a nondescript van parked in the alley. When the hell did he have time to steal that? Sneaky jerk must’ve snuck out in the middle of the night. And he’s hogging all the stakeout snacks for himself, too.

“Don’t eat my M&M’s!” Klaus calls after him.

“I didn’t get M&M’s,” Five calls back. “Buy your own sugary garbage.”

“You’re a terrible partner in crime,” Klaus complains. “And _someone_ took all my money.”

Five throws the money clip at him, and he has to dive to catch it before it lands on a half-eaten bagel sandwich.

“If you feel better, you know where to find me,” Five says. “If you don’t, I still need you to take over watch at some point, so suck it up and bring a barf bag.”

Klaus watches the van peal out of the alley somewhat dejectedly. He kicks an empty soda cup to punctuate his annoyance.

“ _Now_ can we go see a movie?” Ben asks.

Klaus sighs heavily, then clambers out of the trash heap, stopping to scrape the gunk off his hand on the edge of the dumpster before continuing out of the alley.

“Yeah, alright,” He says. “I don’t think I’ve been in almost fifty years. I could do with some overpriced popcorn.”

Klaus had forgotten the magic of movie theaters. More precisely, he had forgotten how fun it is to sneak into other showings after the one he’d paid for is over. He’d also forgotten how _not_ fun it is to get kicked out for doing so. And for getting recognized by one of the senior employees from when he used to do this to beat the cold. Or the heat, in the summer.

At any rate, he feels he’s more than earned his bath when he gets back somewhat late that night, and he savors every moment of it in preparation for the god-knows how long of boredom that awaits him at Five’s stakeout. The good news is, his detox has worn off enough that he feels pretty alright. The bad news is, he’s still having trouble with one the powers most fundamental to maintaining his sobriety (and, more importantly, his sanity): pushing away the more rowdy spirits. And there are a hell of a lot more of them than there used to be, thanks to their time at the Commission.

Water is a mirror. Mirrors are gateways. Gateways make the spirits stronger. They make him stronger too, but not by enough, evidently.

He turns up his headphones and tries to talk himself out of lighting a joint, just to tide him over until he’s back to his baseline level of operation. Weed makes him tired as shit though, and he needs to stay alert. He’s pretty sure nothing important’s going to happen until morning at the earliest, but they have to be careful; one little slip-up, and their entire _raison de être_ goes out the window of a very, very tall building. Landing on a spike pit, or something. Point is, he can’t afford falling asleep on the job, so he gets out of the tepid water and dances his way to his room, letting the music guide him and drown out the wails of the damned and damning.

He’s vibing to Nina Simone when something pinches in his neck, and terror floods through his body before quickly being replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling as his vision fades and his legs give out from under him when he tries to stumble away from the looming figure trying to pick him up. His limbs feel very, very heavy, and the floor is more comfortable than it has any right to be.

He only gets a brief glimpse of the monochrome forest before he comes back to find himself stuffed in a trunk, bound and gagged with duct tape. The car seems to be parked, which means he can’t try to figure out where his kidnappers have taken him.

Ben lets out a shaky, relieved breath from where he’s wedged himself next to Klaus, just barely managing not to phase through the edge of the trunk.

“I thought you were dead,” He says. Klaus shrugs as best he can in the cramped space. “Really dead, I mean. It’s been almost ten minutes.”

The length of time should worry him, as should his current predicament, but whatever he’d been dosed with is doing a pretty fantastic job of numbing him out, and the stress seems like it’s happening to someone else. Someone far away.

“I think that guy was expecting you to have your usual tolerance, ‘cause he seemed pretty confused when you OD’d,” Ben says. “Didn’t stop him from stuffing you in here, though.”

Okay, Klaus can work with the information here, right? Probably should try to figure out what’s happened to him?

Someone had broken into the Academy, someone who knows enough about him to know about his history of addiction. Someone who clearly also knows about his inability to die, if they were still willing to drag his corpse out of there and put in the effort to gag and bind him. Corpses don’t make enough noise or put up enough struggle to warrant that, typically speaking.

Which means whoever took him knows exactly who he is, and the fact that _he_ was taken, instead of anyone else, means they’d been there for one reason, and one reason only.

His suspicions are confirmed just a few minutes later, when two masked figures open the trunk. He screams melodramatically, earning a blow to the head before he’s scooped up and a blanket is tossed over him. He counts the steps to their destination, noting the staircase.

Hazel deposits him in a chair, and Cha-Cha briefly undoes his bindings before taping him down. She rips off his gag, and he stretches his jaw, hissing through the pain.

“Ah, thanks,” He says. “It was starting to get a little hard to breathe through that.”

“Where’s Number Five, Hargreeves?” Cha-Cha demands.

“I don’t know why you guys are bothering with the masks,” Klaus says. “Christ’s sake, we’ve _worked_ together. It’s not like I don’t know what you look like.”

“He’s got a point,” Hazel says. Cha-Cha removes her mask to glare at him, and he pulls the blue bear up over his face, leaving it to rest on the top of his head.

“Answer the damn question,” Cha-Cha says, turning back to him.

“What, so you guys can get right on turning him into a fine paste? Thanks, I’ll pass,” Klaus snorts.

“This is the easy way, Klaus,” She says. “We can do things the hard way if you like, but one way or another, you’re gonna tell us where he is.”

“I think you’re failing to consider my position here,” He says. “I could do what you’re asking, give up my brother’s location, and have that on my conscience until the heat death of the universe. _Or_ I could, like, not do that? I’m just not really seeing the benefits of your proposition.”

She breaks his nose.

“How about, you tell us, and I don’t turn you into ground beef,” She says.

“Compelling,” He spits the blood that falls into his mouth onto the carpet. His nose aches, but like the fear, it seems distant. Something to look forward to when he sobers up, he supposes. “But, uh, think I’ll pass.”

“Told you he wouldn’t go for it,” Hazel says.

“Shut up,” Cha-Cha snaps.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Klaus,” Hazel says. “He’s the one that’s in trouble, not you. They know he dragged you with him; if you turn him over to us, you can get back to your job.”

“You’re one of the best, Hargreeves,” Cha-Cha says. “You should be back on our side, doing what you’re meant to.”

“Am I though? Meant for this?” He gestures at the room as best he can with his hands still taped down. “I feel like I’m meant for something that gets me access to less sketchy bathtubs. I mean, c’mon, you’ve gotta be _seriously_ touched in the head to actually use one of those.”

“Thank you!” Hazel throws up his arms. Cha-Cha glares at him. “See? I’m not the only one who knows we’re getting the short end of the shaft here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” She snaps, turning back to Klaus. “Either you accept the boss’ _generous_ offer, or we do what we do best until you tell us where your brother is.”

“Do your worst,” Klaus grins.

Diego’s not really sure why he thought waiting outside Eudora’s was a good idea. He’s just working up the motivation to leave when she steps out, travel mug in hand, and joins him on the steps. She hands him the coffee.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” She asks, her eyes trailing over the bruises and split skin from last night.

“I gave as good as I got,” He says.

“You didn’t answer my question,” She says. He shrugs.

“How’s that paperwork going?” He asks.

“It’s a real page-turner,” She scoffs. “I’ve got two guys in children’s masks, rare bullet casings, two sets of prints from a 1930’s cold case, and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you still haven’t found Number Five.”

“Just Five,” He corrects, taking a sip of the coffee. He’s surprised to find it the way he likes it- two sugars, lots of cream- rather than Eudora’s preferred style- sweetened with honey to the point that it’s practically syrup. How long had she known he was out here?

“Okay, what’s going on?” She asks. “You could’ve called for an update, so why are you really here?”

“Nothin’ I just…” He sighs, trying to get the words to move past the lump in his throat. “My mom.”

The lump gets a little harder to breathe past.

“She died last night,” He says.

I killed her, he doesn’t say. Maybe she was as good as dead already, he buries deep, deep down.

“Shit,” She says. “Diego, I’m sorry. I know how close you were. Is there anything I can-“

“I just-“ He grunts, the words cutting off somewhere just before leaving his lips. Damn his _stupid_ tongue, his _useless_ brain for betraying him like this. “I don’t- I don’t know how…”

“Is that what this is about?” She gestures to his beat-up face.

He looks away. This was a mistake. If the full force of the Academy couldn’t take those fuckers out, what can one detective do? And if she can’t help, why had he bothered worrying her about it?

“Hey, hey,” She puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to meet her gaze. “Tell me what’s going on. Who did this?”

“Let’s just say,” He says. Slowly, carefully. “I didn’t get a good look at their faces.”

“You went after the guys in masks, didn’t you?” She sighs.

“I didn’t go after them,” He says. “And one’s a woman, by the way! So, stop being so sexist.”

“I _specifically_ told you not to follow them,” She says.

“No, they came to _my_ house, looking for _my_ brothers,” His grip on the travel mug tightens painfully as he tries to push down the anger threatening to burst from his chest. “They tried to kill _my_ family.”

Almost killed Vanya.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” He takes another sip. “They’re still missing. I need to find them.”

“Diego, you need to let me handle this,” She says firmly. “You’re not equipped-“

“Oh, you always _loved_ tellin’ me what I can and can’t do,” He laughs darkly. “Y’know, just _once_ , you could try things my way.”

“I can’t,”

“No wonder we didn’t last,”

“Yep,” She mutters. He sets the coffee on the step next to him and makes to leave. “Diego, I really am sorry about your mom.”

“Yeah,” He says, and walks away.

This was a mistake, coming to her in search of… comfort? Reassurance? He’s not sure what he’d been hoping to get out of the meeting, but he knows he didn’t get it. All he got was a lecture, like _always_. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration, and when that proves to be not quite enough, he digs his nails into the palms of his hands and walks a little faster.

This has got to be the shittiest week of his life, even counting when Ben died. At least then he’d had Klaus, and Vanya. This time all he has is the memory of a puddle of gore on the floor of the diner they used to haunt as kids, a ruthless book he can’t bring himself to throw away, and his grief. Always his grief.

Grief and anger seem to be the only emotions he can feel these days, to the point that he’s not sure he’d ever felt anything else. At least with anger, he can channel it into something productive.

Five is going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, when Diego gets his hands on him.

Five wakes to find the van empty, save for Delores sitting in the passenger seat.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” He assures her, but he can’t help the unease that settles in his stomach. Klaus wouldn’t ditch without an extraordinarily good reason, and none of the ones Five’s brain can come up with are good news. She calls him out on it, of course.

He makes a face, scrubs the sleep out of his eyes, and attempts to distract himself with his stakeout.

Every four hours, like clockwork, Klaus gets another dose. He hasn’t been this high for this long since his early twenties, back when he’d cared less about being functional enough to survive. Before Ben’s constant nagging had got to him, not that he’d ever admit it.

“I’m just sayin’, I could use a break,” Hazel says. “Let him stew for a bit. It’s not like this is working that great anyway.”

Klaus grins, his head lolled onto his chest. He’s not touched in the head enough to pretend he’s been having _fun_ the last sixteen hours, but unsettling his torturers takes the edge off. And with every dose, he’s just the littlest bit less incapacitated, which means that if he can stall for enough time, he might be able to bust himself out of here. Maybe even with enough time to help Five save the world, if he’s lucky.

Trust these idiots not to read up about tolerance-building. Though the more he thinks about it, the less sure he is that his tolerance should be going up this fast. Maybe it’s just been a while, or maybe it’s yet another strange side-effect of the way he’d come back. He doesn’t need to worry about the why of it though, or the how. All that matters is that it _is_ going up, and he’ll just have to hope he’s got enough strength to make use of it.

“Fine, we’ll get lunch,” Cha-Cha says. “Isn’t there a teriyaki place down the street?”

“I could go for teriyaki,” Hazel says, lifting Klaus’ chair and stuffing it into the closet. There’s a joke in there somewhere he thinks, but he’s too exhausted and in too much pain to work it out. Their voices fade out of range when the door closes behind them, leaving the only sound Klaus’ own breath in the dark, cramped space.

He’s not the biggest fan of dark, cramped spaces. Dad had made sure of _that_.

“Hang on a little longer,” Ben says. “I’m sure _someone_ ’s noticed by now.”

Klaus laughs soundlessly and tips his head back to stare at the bar running across the span of the closet.

“I’ve gone missing longer than this before,” He croaks. The waterboarding a few hours ago had helped, but his throat is still sore and he’s beginning to get one hell of a dehydration headache. How he’s able to distinguish it from his current headache, he’s not sure. “They shouldn’t come after me anyway. They’ll just get themselves killed.”

“So you’re just giving up?” Ben asks, voice tight with barely-restrained anger.

“I’m working on my daring escape, don’t you worry,” Klaus says.

“What about Five?” Ben says, long enough later that Klaus has to snap himself out of a doze. Fuck, he’s tired. Who knew that torture took so much out of you? “He’ll notice, won’t he? And he’ll come for you.”

“If he does, he’s an idiot,” Klaus says. “It’s what they’re hoping he’ll do, and he knows it. He’s smarter than to walk into a trap.”

“You’re his _brother_ ,” Ben protests.

“Yeah, and I can’t die,” Klaus says. “So I’m not in any real danger, am I?”

“You’re an idiot,” Ben says.

Klaus shrugs. The point still stands that Five is a first-rate pragmatist, and rescuing Klaus takes lower priority than saving the world. If Klaus hadn’t made his peace with Five’s bent morals long ago- well, he’d sort of helped form them, anyway. If he can’t manage to escape, he’ll just have to wait a few days. Either way their mission shakes out, he’ll be walking free by then.

“Man, never thought I’d say it, but I really wish I was staking out MeriTech right now,” Klaus mumbles, his eyes drifting shut once more. He’d give anything to be sitting in a stuffy, stolen van, turning his brain to mush with boredom.

The closet door slams open, ricocheting off the wall on the rebound, and his eyes snap open again.

“MeriTech, huh?” Hazel says. “Is that where Number Five is?”

“No! No, I’m running a freelance job right now,” Klaus lies. He’s not sure how effective it is, considering his voice has jumped about a half an octave. God, he’s usually so _good_ at lying, what the hell is wrong with him? That’s a stupid question. “Needed some spending cash. You know how it is, with our salaries? Right?”

“‘Cha, get the car warmed up,” Hazel calls over his shoulder. “We got an errand to run.”

Son of a _bitch_.

It figures that Luther had known where Five was this entire time, and hadn’t said a damn word to Diego about it. He _supposes_ there was no reason to, since he hadn’t mentioned Five is a wanted witness, or that Klaus may or may not be dead, but rationality does little to soothe his annoyance, and so they drive in silence.

They pull up to the lab just in time to see a tiny body fly through the air, propelled by an explosion that rains shards of glass onto the pavement. Diego ignores the way the car screams as he throws on the emergency brake, the way his knees scream in protest as he skids across the jagged ground to Five’s prone form.

Five struggles to his elbows, gaping at the burning building, no sign that he’s registered Diego’s presence.

“Hey, come on,” Diego says, nudging his shoulder. He startles at the contact, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as his wide eyes dart around them. “Come on, cops’ll be here soon.”

Five looks back at the building, and all confusion is replaced with grief and horror. He doesn’t move. Diego hauls him to his feet, and drags him to the still-idling car by the elbow, only being thrown off as he reaches for the door.

“Where’s Klaus?” Five asks. He glares through the windows at Luther, who waves awkwardly.

“What?” The plan of action Diego had been piecing together disintegrates in his fingertips.

“Where’s Klaus?” Five repeats, taking an unsteady step backward. “He was supposed to _be here_. I- Where-“

“We thought-“ Diego starts. His jaw snaps shut as the events of the last seventeen or so hours play back in his mind, shifting slightly with the confirmation that Klaus is _alive_ , that he’s missing. He curses, loudly. “Those _freaks-_ I’ll kill them!”

“What freaks?”

“Two assholes in kid’s masks attacked the Academy last night,” Diego takes a deep breath, picturing the words in his mind. His heart squeezes at the evocation of Mom’s last- they _won’t_ be her last words. He won’t let them. Someone will be able to fix her. “They must have taken him.”

Five explodes, and it’s all Diego can do to dodge and duck and keep the tornado of teeth and nails and _incandescent rage_ away from him. He’s almost not ashamed to say he’s grateful when Luther finally squeezes himself out of the car and gets hold of Five, with considerable difficulty given the size difference.

Almost.

He tries to catch his breath, clutching his arm where Five had used one of his own knives against him. He doesn’t know whether to thank Five’s inexperience with the weapon or the blinding qualities of fury for the fact that it’s lodged in a phone pole ten feet behind him and not his bronchial artery, but he’s leaning towards the latter.

“Let me go!” Five snarls, clawing at Luther’s arms and kicking wildly, looking somehow even younger than usual. Significantly more rabid, too. Diego entertains the idea of calling animal control and letting someone else deal with his family for a few hours. “Let me _go!”_

“Calm down,” Luther says firmly. “What’s got you so worked up, anyway?”

“You _idiots_ let Klaus get abducted, that’s what!” Five lodges an elbow in Luther’s ribcage, and his grip slips just enough for Five to wriggle his way free, landing on the pavement with a dull thud. The impact seems to knock a few loose screws back into place, and when he rises back to his feet, he looks almost calm. A little twitchy, and undeniably pissed, but collected. “How long has he been missing?”

“Abducted?” Luther frowns. “What- Wait, he’s not with you?”

“I left him at home yesterday,” Five says, something like guilt flickering across his face so briefly that Diego can’t be sure he didn’t imagine it. “What time, _precisely_ , did the Academy get attacked?”

“About ten-thirty,” Diego says. He takes another breath, pictures the words- _prepares_ the words- “He was alive though, right? When you left him?”

“Of course he was,” Five snaps. He begins to pace, chewing his thumb in an extremely Klaus-like manner, the edges of his outline flickering like a candle in a windstorm, the only indication of its cause the faint blue that accompanies it. Diego wouldn’t have expected micro-jumping to be a nervous tic, but then, _he_ tends to forget to breathe in times of stress. Like now. The only breaths he’s taken since the explosion have been to center himself.

“Shit,” Five mutters. “This is bad. Ten-thirty, you’re sure?”

Luther and Diego nod in unison.

“Shit,” Five stops in his tracks, the hand falling away from his mouth. “Eighteen hours. _Shit_.”

“We have to find him,” Luther says.

“Got any more stellar observations, Number One?” Diego sneers. “You figure out the sky is blue? Have some exciting news about the wetness of water?”

“Shut up,” Five orders, cutting off Luther’s half-voiced retort.

Diego smirks, taking what little joy he can in the (technical) victory. Honestly, he’s relieved Luther’s on the same page in regards to Klaus, for once. Maybe he decided to think for himself for once, ignored Dad’s repeated devaluation of Klaus’ worth, and realized their idiot brother is more than a flight risk providing an incessant stream of background noise.

“One of you comes with me, the other goes back to the Academy and gets the infirmary ready,” Five says. He resumes his pacing, but his hands remain stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, and the portals only open once or twice per lap instead of every other step. “I don’t care who, but we have to hurry.”

“No way, we’re both coming with you,” Luther says. “The three of us fought like hell, and we still _barely_ made it out of that fight alive.”

“Speak for yourself,” Diego mutters, ignoring the way his bruises twinge with the movement of his face.

“Lucky thing I’m better equipped to handle this than you, then,” Five says. “No, you’ll just get in the way. Forget it, I’ll just go myself and-“

“It’s not a debate, Five,” Luther says. “We’re not letting you go in alone. Right, Diego?”

“Yeah,” Diego says. He can feel his heart in his eyeballs. That can’t be normal, can it? Everything seems a little further away than it should, and his limbs feel electrified and numb. His tongue feels too big for his mouth, all of a sudden.

“You said the attackers were wearing masks,” Five says. “What masks?”

“Uh,” Luther looks to Diego, panicked, but all Diego can offer is a shrug. He can’t trust himself to open his mouth right now. If he manages words, they won’t be complete ones, and he’s starting to think it won’t be words falling out. He swallows once. Twice. Inhale through the nose, exhale- _carefully_ \- through the mouth. Hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold- “A, uh, blue bear? And a pink… pink dog?”

Five lets out a string of curses so loud and so impressive that it shocks Diego entirely out of his panic attack.

“I should’ve known,” Five laughs darkly. “I said as much, didn’t I? Fuck, no wonder he told-“

He cuts himself off, jaw clicking audibly shut as his expression darkens.

“Fine, _one_ of you comes with me,” He says. “The other gets the infirmary ready.”

“Ready for what?” Luther asks uneasily, as if _his_ brain isn’t working overdrive, imagining exactly what the past day has entailed for their missing brother.

“Use your imagination for once in your life, One,” Five sneers. “The worst-case scenario. Anything, everything- it doesn’t matter. Just get it prepared.”

“No, _I_ should come with you,” Luther says. “No offense, but Diego-“

“I’m more than capable of dealing with a few psychos,” Diego snaps, his words finally coming back to him, as they always do when it’ll cause him the most trouble.

“I’m not saying that,” Luther protests. “I just- I’m the strong one, right? And that blue dog guy, he was almost a match for me.”

“So what, you’re saying I couldn’t take you in a fight?” Diego says.

“You can have your pissing contest later,” Five interrupts before Luther can respond, and once again Diego relishes in the victory. “When Klaus isn’t-“

He takes a sharp breath, and the pride in Diego’s chest vanishes with the slow exhale.

“When we have room to breathe,” Five says. “Which of you knows the city better?”

“Diego,” Luther admits begrudgingly.

“Then he’s with me,” Five says.

Passing along the messages of the departed isn’t Klaus’ favorite skill, but even he has to admit that it’s had a profound impact these last few hours. Cha-Cha looks rattled, Hazel looks like he wants to be literally anywhere else, and the motel room is almost empty again. Most of their victims are satisfied with the results of Klaus’ jeering, and it allows them to move on. To rest.

Klaus would do anything to rest.

“Number Five will show up soon,” Cha-Cha’s voice filters from their hiding spot in the bathroom. “But after we deal with him, you and I are having a serious talk.”

“Sure,” Hazel says flatly.

The three (four) of them sit in silence after that. It’s not until the sun has long since gone down that Klaus sees movement through the window.

“Get their attention!” Ben says.

Klaus stays perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. Hoping, _praying_ that Five won’t check in here, that he’ll be too smart to fall for their stupid trap-

The door swings open.

It isn’t Five that rushes through to remove the duct tape binding him from the chair.

“Where are they?” The woman asks, carefully pulling the tape from his mouth. She needs to be quieter.

“You can’t be here,” He hisses. “Leave! Before it’s too late!”

“I’m not leaving without you,” She says. “You’re Diego’s brother, yeah?”

“…Yeah,” Klaus frowns, not sure what that has to do with anything. Then he spots the badge on her hip. Hadn’t Diego dated a cop? Blotch, or something? It doesn’t matter. “Leave. Now.”

“Eudora?”

Shit.

“Klaus!”

Five barrels through the door, blinking around Diego and Patch to Klaus’ side, taking his face in his hands and tilting it around, checking for injury. Or perhaps checking for the few places that _aren’t_ injured, which would be a far more efficient use of his time, Klaus thinks.

“It’s a trap,” Klaus says, no longer attempting to keep his voice down. “ _Run_!”

Everything’s a bit of a blur, after that, and it’s not just because of the multiple concussions Klaus has accrued since his abduction. He lets instinct take over, and the next thing he’s fully aware of is sitting on the bus, clutching a briefcase in his hands, wearing nothing but the towel and Hazel’s stolen blazer. Interesting, that flight had won over fight in his instincts. Interesting like the rehab bracelet still hanging off his wrist, like the withdrawals and his far-too quickly building tolerance.

He tilts the briefcase around, inspecting it carefully. Standard-issue Commission time-travel device. Hell yes. Hell _fucking_ yes. His little slip-up doesn't have to be an issue; all he has to do is figure out how to work the damn thing, and he can set up a stable time-loop to thwart Hazel and Cha-Cha before they get to the lab. Or- or tip off Five, maybe. Change _something_ , to salvage this mess.

He bumps the latches in his search, and the world warps until he’s falling three feet onto dirt.

Five sits on the motel steps, his head in his hands. Klaus is gone- what little trail he had left vanishing at the other end of the air duct, he let Hazel and Cha-Cha escape, Diego and his friend are hurt, MeriTech is a smoking pile of ash-

He’s failed. The world is going to end in five days, and he’s screwed up every plan he’s made to stop it. He wishes Ben were here. Ben would know what to say. It might not make him _feel_ better, but it would be what he needs to hear to get his ass moving. He wishes Klaus were here. Klaus would know what to say to make him feel better.

“Any sign of him?” Diego asks, easing down on the step next to Five.

“He’s gone,” Five croaks. He’d worn his voice out, calling for him.

“He’ll turn up,” Diego says. It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. “He always does.”

“It won’t matter,” Five says. “I’ve let us all down.”

“Hey, you did a hell of a lot better of a job finding him than Luther and I,” Diego says. “And better late than never, right?”

“That’s not what I mean,”

“Then what?”

Five should tell him. Diego took a bullet to the arm for him and Klaus, he deserves the truth. To know that the world ends in less than a week.

But now it’s Five’s fault, and he can’t voice his failures. Not yet.

He lifts his head from his hands and scuffs his foot along the step where it rests, imagining that the concrete is Cha-Cha or Hazel’s face. It does little to improve his mood.

“You should take your friend back to the Academy,” He says. “She’s hurt. So are you.”

“Nothing life-threatening,” Diego says, though he looks back over his shoulder at the distant form of the woman, her heated phone conversation drifting towards them in the cool night air. It sounds like the person on the other end isn’t exactly happy with her, and it reminds Five a little too much of the Handler’s lectures.

It’s not that he and Klaus had been bad at their jobs- quite the opposite, in fact- it’s just that they’d been the team with the least collateral damage, which somehow was a _bad_ thing. Witnesses, or what have you. He’d never bothered to care; it wasn’t like they were sticking around long after the end of the job.

“Maybe he went back to the Academy,” Diego says. “Right? He hates hospitals, and there’s a bus stop not far from here.”

“He was wearing a towel,” Five says. “He doesn’t have bus fare.”

“Never stopped him before,”

“I suppose,”

They sit in silence a while longer, listening to the endless stream of traffic below and the hushed, angry tones of Diego’s cop friend.

“What happened at Griddy’s the night of the funeral?” Diego asks abruptly.

“Does it matter?” Five scuffs his foot again. None of this matters. _Nothing_ matters, can’t Diego see that? Who cares about a stupid shootout? Who cares about a few extra corpses, when the world burns at the end of the week?

“Klaus’ brain was smeared across the floor,” Diego says, voice tight. “If he’s still hurt, we’ve gotta-“

“He’s fine,” Five says. “Or he was, until _they_ got their hands on him.”

“I wouldn’t call a traumatic brain injury _fine_ ,” Diego says.

“It didn’t stick,”

“Right, I forgot how quickly those heal,” Diego laughs sarcastically. “What the hell is going on, Five?”

He opens his mouth to answer, and hesitates, thinking of Vanya.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” He says, and blinks away. Just far enough that he has a decent head start. He wishes Klaus had been here to laugh at his joke.

He ignores his name as it’s shouted across the motel parking lot, bouncing against the walls and staircases and cars as he trudges down the street. He isn’t sure _where_ he’s going, but he can’t stay there. Maybe Diego’s right and he should go back to the Academy to look for Klaus, but even if Klaus _is_ there, what good will it do? MeriTech is still gone, Hazel and Cha-Cha are still loose, and he’s still out of options. Not even a hail-Mary. They’d put everything on that eye, and look where it’s got them. He chuckles darkly at the inadvertent pun his train of thought had led to.

He decides to go home; not to the Academy, but the Argyle street library, where they had lived nearly half his life. There could be something in the books that had been destroyed that could help him fix his equations, jump back in time far enough to actually _do_ something.

He wishes Klaus were here to help him puzzle out the math.

He decides to take Delores with him, despite her being a truly terrible math partner. She’d once waited three months to tell him he’d forgotten to carry a seven, negating all the progress made since.

He blinks across the city in carefully calculated jumps, ensuring he isn’t too exhausted by the time he reaches the van. He stares dully at the message written in the ash coating the glass.

_Your brother says ‘hi’_

There’s a clean patch under the windshield wiper, like something had been wedged there. A matchbook, maybe? It’d go a long way towards explaining how Diego’s detective friend had found the motel so fast. Faster than them. Without having to check every other damn place in the city.

He takes Delores from the passenger seat, resting her on his hip.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He says.

 _Five,_ she says.

“It’s over,” He says. “Everyone dies in five days, and it’s all my fault.”

She gives him a Look, challenging his leap in logic. He ignores it and makes for a liquor store. He could stand to unwind a little, before getting into theoretical physics.


	4. Nothing Is Anything (Without You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave… dies? Klaus makes introductions and apologies. Luther has an annoyingly developed sense of morality. Dave is a terrible flirt. Patch gets some answers that raise more questions.

Klaus is pretty familiar with corpses. He knows how long it takes for ghosts to appear, how to tell if someone’s going to move on instead of haunt his ass, how to tell how long they’ve been dead, all sorts of things. And thanks to his chronic zombification, he’s had the privilege of becoming intimately familiar with a varied range of fatal injuries and how long they take to kill you.

This is a new one, though.

He’s _pretty_ sure holes through the chest aren’t supposed to just close up like that, and that other people’s hearts don’t suddenly start beating again a few minutes later. That seems like the kind of thing he would have noticed.

Dave inhales sharply, only to choke on the blood still stuck in his throat, and he rolls out from under Klaus’ hand to retch into the dirt. He spits at the tail end of it, rolling back onto his back and breathing heavily.

“What the fuck was that?” He asks, eyes glazed as he stares up at the night sky, hazy with smoke from the battle still raging around them.

Klaus makes a high-pitched, panicked sort of noise.

“My _head_ ,” Dave groans, closing his eyes tightly. The shells continue to rain down around them, fountains of Earth springing up where they hit, Dave wincing with each impact. “Fucking _hell_.”

Klaus makes the noise again, or at least something in the same family as it.

“I’m hallucinating,” Dave says calmly, though his breathing hasn’t changed. “The stress finally got to me and I cracked, yeah? Yeah. That’s- that’s it.”

He cracks open an eye to look at Klaus.

“K?” He asks, just a hint of panic finally creeping into his tone. “K, I’m not- I didn’t- Am I a _ghost_? Do ghosts get headaches?”

“No,” Klaus manages to choke out. “You’re not a- a ghost.”

“Oh,” Dave says. “Just crazy?”

“No,” Klaus swallows. “No, not unless it’s one _hell_ of a _folie á deux_.”

“Oh,” Dave says, his voice small. “So I- oh.”

“Yeah,” Klaus says.

Dave passes out.

Half-carrying a heavily disoriented Dave down to the temporary camp at the base of the hill isn’t the easiest of tasks, but it has the benefit of distracting Klaus from his panic, so he manages to avoid passing out himself. He gets them almost to the med tent when he realizes that- just maybe- there will be questions, like ‘why are you two covered in blood’ and ‘where’s the injury’. So he pulls Dave through the thicket at the edge of camp and makes him sit at the base of a tree before running for supplies. When he gets back, Dave hasn’t moved an inch, still clutching his head held between his knees.

“Here,” Klaus says, clearing his throat as he presses a canteen into Dave’s hand, settling next to him in the tangle of tree roots. Dave takes it, but that’s where the action stops. “Hey, you need to drink something.”

“Yeah,” Dave croaks, still not moving. Klaus reaches over and removes the cap for him and _finally_ he raises it to his lips.

“I, uh, brought you a fresh shirt,” Klaus says, setting it on the ground between them, then digging his last gift out of his pocket and setting it on top. “And a snack.”

“Thanks,” Dave says, the water seeming to have restored some of his ability to function, as it takes comparatively little time for him to dig into the candy bar. He takes small bites, chewing thoughtfully as Klaus watches him with apprehension. “Getting shot through the chest- I really didn’t just hallucinate that?”

“Don’t think so,” Klaus says, offering a weak but sympathetic smile. “How are you feeling?”

“For a dead man?” Dave half-laughs. “Pretty damn good, I guess. Head hurts like hell, but that happens to you too, right?”

“Yeah,” Klaus says. “Be glad you didn’t step on a mine.”

“Small favors, huh?” Dave says, laughing a little stronger this time. “You wouldn’t get out of bed for two days- I thought Tommy was gonna throttle you if you didn’t stop whining about it.”

Klaus laughs as well, little more than a simple sharp exhale. He’s not sure which of them is in more shock, frankly.

“This is so _weird_ ,” Dave says, winning understatement of the freaking _century_ with just four words; an impressive feat, if you ask Klaus. “So, what, I’m just- like you now? Forever?”

“Hey, maybe you got lucky,” Klaus says, bumping their shoulders together. “Maybe she likes you better and it’s just a one-off. Like, maybe it just wasn’t your ‘time’, or whatever.”

“I think that’d raise more questions than my theory,” Dave says, carefully avoiding arguing with Klaus on the luck of his draw; they’ve fought about it before, and Dave can never seem to wrap his head around Klaus’ point of view. It’s almost barbarically cruel that he has the chance to find out first-hand.

“Yeah,” Klaus agrees with a heavy sigh. Dave, finished with his candy bar, shifts closer until their arms are pressed against one another, and they both lean into the gesture, Klaus tipping his head to rest against Dave’s. If he forgets about the past hour or so, he can pretend this is just another sleepless night like dozens of others over the past year. He can pretend that he doesn’t have to deal with how to deal with this, pretend that he can pretend he’s just your average soldier.

“What the hell am I even supposed to _do_ with this?” Dave asks a good while later, long enough that Klaus laughs at the abruptness of it.

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” He says. “All it’s really done for me is fuck with my risk-assessment skills.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Dave says dryly. Klaus laughs again. “Seriously- if I can’t die, _why_? Why me? Why you?”

“Why anything?” Klaus counters. “Trust me, that’s the kind of question you’ll drive yourself nuts trying to answer. Far as I can tell, there’s no answer. Not a satisfying one, anyway.”

“Well, I mean, you’re trying to save the world,” Dave says. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“If it is, god is being real cagey about it,” Klaus says. “They just keep telling me I ‘don’t rub them the right way’, which is a weird-ass way to phrase it, but at least they’re consistent about it. Either way, doesn’t really explain why _you_ can’t die all of a sudden.”

“Guess not,” Dave says, and they lapse into another silence. Klaus closes his eyes and focuses on the din of the jungle around them, the muted bustle of the camp as the remaining soldiers wind down for the night, and Dave’s breathing. It leaves his mind too much freedom to wander.

“I’m glad you aren’t a ghost, for the record,” He says.

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Dave says. “You’d still have me around.”

“Couldn’t take you with me when I went back, though,” Klaus says. “Ghosts don’t do so good with time-travel.”

Dave pulls away, giving him a questioning look.

“I thought you busted the briefcase when you landed,” He says.

“Fixed it this morning, while everyone was at breakfast,” Klaus says sheepishly. “I was going to tell you, I _swear_ \- a-and, I don’t have to leave right away! Right? It’s not like there’s a time-limit on getting back to the future. It’s- the end of the world can wait.”

“That’s not what you said when I asked how it worked,” Dave says. Klaus curses his past self for being so damn _eager_ to explain things.

“Okay, _maybe_ the power supply is an issue,” He says begrudgingly.

“How long do you have left?” Dave asks.

Klaus hesitates.

“Klaus,” Dave says.

“A week, at most,” Klaus blurts. A few days, if he’s being honest. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being honest.

“A _week_?” Dave repeats, absolutely crestfallen, and Klaus _hates_ himself for saying anything- really, he could’ve just pretended the damn case was unfixable, and then he and Dave would have all the time in the world, and Dave would never have to feel guilty about it because he wouldn’t _know_. It would be unbelievably selfish, far beyond any of the shit he pulled when he was young; knowing that doesn’t make him want it any less.

“I can stay,” Klaus says. “If you ask me to, I’ll stay.”

“No, I- your brother needs you,” Dave says, though he looks like he wishes he were saying something else.

“He’ll still be there if I take the long way,” Klaus says. Dave’s right- Dave’s _always_ right, but technically so is Klaus. He’s already lost most of his momentum over the past ten months, what’s another fifty years? Five won’t know the difference, as long as Klaus keeps his mouth shut.

“How much did you miss your family, those forty-five years after the Apocalypse?” Dave counters. _Damn_ him for being right.

“Come with me,” Klaus says instead. “I mean- shit, that’s- you’ve got _family_ , I can’t just yank you out of the timeline, and you’d be stuck, and the world’s _ending_ -“

“You really want to take me with you?” Dave asks, an incredulous smile creeping across his face.

“It’s stupid,” Klaus shakes his head, looking away. “I can’t ask you to just… drop _everything_ like that. And again, we’re T-minus four days from bye-bye humanity, so it’s not like there’s much to look forward to-“

“But you’re working on that,” Dave says weakly.

“ _Dave_ ,” Klaus says desperately, looking back at him. “I pretty royally screwed up the _only_ plan we had, and I can’t even use my damn backup plan ‘cause the briefcase only has enough charge for one trip. The world is fucked, unless Five has some wild card up his sleeve.”

That’s the thing about Five, though- he almost always has some cockamamie plan on deck, and _annoyingly_ they always seem to work, no matter how convoluted or stupid they seem. It’s not definite, but it’s enough to keep the spark of hope alive in Klaus’ chest, only just barely contained by the cage of his ribs. It would take very little for an errant ember to set him ablaze.

“I’m coming with you,” Dave says, firm and with no room to argue; Klaus starts to anyway, only for Dave to cut him off. “Before you say no, tell me something: what kind of future do I have here?”

“One with people in it?” Klaus suggests, wondering what part of ‘all of humanity gone’ Dave isn’t getting. “One with- with your family in it?”

“Klaus, baby, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m gay,” Dave laughs. “Frankly it’s a miracle _they_ haven’t noticed, and you know as well as I do what’ll happen when they figure it out.”

“They might surprise you,” Klaus says, though from what Dave’s told him of his family, it’s a weak rebuttal. Dave’s snort of derision reinforces that. “Dave, this is crazy, and it’s not something you should just… _decide_. Especially not with the fuckin’ curveball of all curveballs you got thrown tonight.”

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” Dave threatens. “And you said it yourself, there’s only a week until you’re stranded here. Do you even have a plan for how you’re going to get out of Vietnam? It’s not like you have a tour that’ll end, since you didn’t exactly enlist.”

“I…” Klaus sighs, dropping his head. Dammit. Why’d he have to go and let someone get to know him well enough to know damn well he _hadn’t_ thought that far ahead? “ _Please_ , just think it over for a few days? At least?”

“Two days,” Dave says. “Then I’m dragging your ass to the twenty-first century myself if I have to.”

“You’re _impossible_ ,” Klaus says fondly, melting as Dave pulls him in by his shirt for a lingering kiss.

For two days, Klaus tries to talk Dave out of it, and for two days, Dave digs in his heels. For two days, Klaus knows his heart isn’t in it, because in all honesty even if it _would_ be better for Dave to stay in his own time (it definitely is, but Klaus is indulging Dave’s arguments a little too much), he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to leave him. Either way things shake out, one of them is ending up in the wrong part of history, and it’ll be harder for the Commission to do anything about Dave being the one to move. They might not even bother trying to take him out, since they’re so sure the Apocalypse is going to happen. That’s what Klaus tells himself, anyway.

The third morning after Dave died on the hill, they fake his death. Klaus had wanted to just leave, but Dave had insisted- something about wanting his family to have a version of him they could be proud of. Klaus had bitten his tongue about that for the sake of getting things over with, but he promises himself he’s _not_ going to let it slide forever. Dave _has_ to know that’s fucked up, right? Definitely?

It’s disturbingly easy to fake a death in the sixties, let alone in the middle of an active war zone, and they’re warping through time before it hits noon.

They land on their feet- a little rough, but nowhere near as bad as Klaus’ arrival all those months ago- on the sidewalk a few blocks from the Academy. He’d tried to program it closer, but the damn cases are so temperamental that it had been a freaking miracle he’d managed _this_ much.

It’s also daytime, which he’s fairly certain it had not been when he’d left. He’d been pretty concussed, and it _had_ been nearly a year ago, but he’s pretty clear on that little detail.

“Hm,” He says, prying the access panel open and examining the now-dead case, as if the mess of wires and computer chips inside will explain anything to him.

“What is it?” Dave asks, peering over Klaus’ shoulder, as if he knows anything about the electronics behind time-travel.

“Either we landed earlier than I meant,” Klaus says. “Or later. And if there is an _ounce_ of mercy in that little girl’s body, we got here early.”

“Hm,” Dave says. Klaus snaps the panel back into place.

“Okay!” He says, swinging the briefcase lackadaisically. “Time to meet the family, huh?”

They hit the end of the block housing the Academy before Ben shows himself, barreling into Klaus at high speed, sending them sprawling across the sidewalk.

“Uh,” Dave says, looking down at Klaus with a not-insignificant amount of confusion. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not unless over-enthusiasm is dangerous,” Klaus wheezes, trying to get his breath back. Ben laughs delightedly.

“I thought- where did you _go_?” He asks, helping Klaus to his feet and gripping his shoulders firmly, eyeing his hands like he’s convinced they’ll phase through at any moment. “You just… vanished. Who’s this?”

“One question at a time, buddy,” Klaus says, patting Ben’s elbow awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t want to explain this twice- c’mon, let’s go find Five.”

“He’s in your room,” Ben says, finally letting go of him to stuff his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “He’s pretty upset.”

“Oh, can’t imagine why,” Klaus says loftily.

He leads a still-bewildered Dave and a giddy Ben through the doors of the Academy, past the chandelier- in pieces across the hallway floor- up the stairs and past Mom, sitting at her charging station awfully late in the morning, Pogo soldering something in her arm. Klaus pauses on the landing, watching them.

“Is she okay?” He asks Pogo. When he and Five had found Mom in the Academy ruins, her wrist had been damaged almost identically. One of Klaus’ many regrets is that they didn’t do _something_ to protect her from the elements until he finally picked up enough electrical engineering to _maybe_ repair her. Not that they would’ve had a way to charge her, he supposes.

“She should be back to full functionality by evening tomorrow,” Pogo says, not looking up from his work. “The damage isn’t too extensive, merely… delicate to repair. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Klaus says, and the old chimp hums in agreement. Klaus watches a few moments longer before Ben kicks him in the ankle, spurring him onward once more.

As they approach Klaus’ room, voices filter from the partially-open door- more than just Five’s. Klaus sighs heavily. This is what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To get as many of his siblings caught up at once as possible? He’d sort of forgotten it wasn’t just Ben and Five anymore, though.

He pushes the door the rest of the way open and tosses the dead briefcase at Five, who thankfully reacts quick enough to catch it.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” He demands. The object in his hands finally catches his attention, and he turns it around and around, inspecting it carefully. “What happened to this?”

“You _did_ keep telling them ‘bulletproof briefcases’,” Klaus says by way of explanation. Five laughs derisively, tossing the useless machine aside. “How long have I been gone?”

“Just overnight,” Five says.

“What-“ Luther stammers. “How-? They said you were-“

“Hamburger meat?” Ben and Klaus supply in unison.

“Yeah, that,” Diego says, eyeing Dave suspiciously. “Gonna introduce us to your shadow there?”

“Dave, meet my brothers,” Klaus says, waving an arm between them. “The living ones, anyway. Ben’s here, but he’s a bit- y’know- with the whole portal and everything, and I just don’t see that being the best idea right now.”

“And Dave is…?” Diego prompts.

“You know, I’m not sure we ever actually talked about that,” Klaus says thoughtfully, turning to Dave. “What _would_ you call us? ‘Boyfriends’ seems a little… I don’t know, juvenile? Inadequate?”

“Uh,” Dave says, and Klaus swears he can _see_ his capacity for intelligent thought fly out of his head. “Boyfriend is… fine?”

Klaus turns back to his brothers, a delighted smile on his face.

“Boyfriend,” He says.

“Boyfriend?” Five repeats dubiously.

“I’m allowed!” Klaus says, withering a little under the quartet of near-identical disapproving stares. “I was gone a _while_ , okay? Time-travel machines aren’t exactly easy to repair, you know.”

“So you took him out of his timeline?” Five asks dangerously. “Did you even think about the effects that could have?”

“Don’t worry, there weren’t any,” Klaus says.

“And you’re sure of this _how_?”

“I died two days ago,” Dave says. The stares move on to him and take a significantly more confused tone of expression. “Can’t recommend it.”

“So you’re a ghost?” Luther asks.

“Nope,” Dave says.

“Christ on a cracker,” Five breathes, staring in horror not at Dave, but at Klaus. “What did you _do_?”

“Nothing!” Klaus protests. “Hey, if I had necromantic powers, do you really think _he’d_ still be dead?” He jerks a thumb at Ben.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Ben says mockingly. “You really care about me?”

“I will revoke that statement _so_ fast, young man,” Klaus says.

“This is a whole new level of crazy, even for you,” Diego says, gaze flickering to a spot about a foot to the left of Ben.

“What a profound revelation, Diego,” Klaus rolls his eyes. “Let’s just- look, here’s what we know: one, I am no longer the only zombie-“

“That we know of,” Dave says. Klaus hisses at him, flapping an arm dismissively.

“ _Two_ ,” He continues. “We have no idea _why_ Dave’s death didn’t stick. C, we do not know if this incident will have a repeat performance. Any questions?”

“How do you know this didn’t happen during the original timeline?” Luther asks.

“I just am,” Klaus says sharply.

“Okay, but-“

“I said I’m _sure_ , Luther,” Klaus snaps. Luther stops speaking more out of shock than any desire to abate. “Anyone else? Great! Moving on.”

“How much does he know about- you know,” Five says.

“Pretty much all of it,” Klaus says. “These chucklefucks?”

“Hey,” Luther protests, Diego glowering next to him, doing his best to cross his arms with one in a sling.

“The broad strokes,” Five says. “Good; we’re on the same page. Now, does anyone have _any_ idea how to stop the end of the world?”

Klaus glares at the mannequin perched on Five’s bed, listening to the frantic taps and scrapes of chalk on the wall, interspersed with the opening and closing of spatial portals.

“When did you even go and pick her up?” He asks, no longer able to hold his tongue. Five sighs wearily.

“While you were sweating out detox,” He says. “I wanted a familiar face, sue me.”

“Maybe I will,” Klaus says. “Seriously, Five. I thought you got past this.”

“Whatever,” Five mumbles, the chalk pausing for the barest of moments.

“Should I ask?” Dave asks, jostling Klaus’ shoulder.

“No,” Five and Klaus chorus, and Dave holds his hands up defensively.

“Tell you later,” Klaus whispers.

“I _heard_ that,” Five snaps, the chalk tapping becoming more violent. Finally, he takes a step back, examining his work. “Okay, it’s… tenuous, but I think I’ve got something here.”

“All four of them? Really?” Klaus asks, though he knows the answer.

“It’s as narrow a field as we’re going to get without a lot more data,” Five says. “And _we_ don’t have access to the infinite switchboard.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and a few moments later, Luther ducks through, scanning the equations as he passes.

“What’s with the math homework?” He asks.

“It’s a probability map,” Five says, hopping off the bed and pulling an oddly-shaped case out from under it.

“Probability of what?” Luther asks.

“Of whose death could save the world,” Five flicks open the latches, revealing one of Dad’s rifles. “We’ve narrowed it down to four.”

“Are you saying one of these four people causes the Apocalypse?”

“No, but their deaths could avert it,” Klaus says.

“Oh,” Luther nods, squinting at a nearly-incomprehensible string of variables with some concern. “I’m not following.”

“Time is fickle, Luther,” Five says. “The slightest alteration in events can lead to massively different outcomes in the time continuum.”

“Butterfly effect kind of thing,” Klaus says. “Meaning, we find the people with the highest probability of affecting things, and- y’know.” He gestures at Five, who’s busied himself with inspecting the rifle.

“So, Milton Greene,” Dave says. “What’s he, a terrorist or something?”

“I believe he is a gardener,” Five says, testing the loading mechanism.

“You can’t be serious,” Luther says, looking desperately to Klaus, who has no reassurance to give him. “This is _madness_ \- where did you get that gun, anyway?”

“Dad’s room. I believe he used it to shoot a rhinoceros,” Five says. “It’s similar to the model I used for work; nice shoulder fit and highly reliable.”

“But you can’t- this guy- Milton- he’s just an innocent man!” Luther protests.

“It’s basic math,” Five says. “One death versus seven billion. If we don’t do anything, he’s dead in four days anyway.”

“We don’t do this kind of thing,” Luther says.

“ _We_ ,” Five gestures between himself and Luther. “Aren’t doing anything; Klaus and I are.”

“I can’t let you go and kill innocent people,” Luther says. “No matter how many lives it saves.”

“Well, good luck trying to stop me,” Five says, moving for the door.

Luther snatches Delores off the bed and holds her out the window, dangling her over the edge of the fire escape, and Five has the gun trained on him before Klaus can even consider stepping in.

“Put her _down_ ,” Five growls.

“Put the gun down, you’re not killing anyone,” Luther says, entirely too confident in his plan. Not that he’s _wrong_ , per se. Klaus just doesn’t like how smug he is about it. “I know she’s important to you, so don’t make me do this.”

Five scoffs, but his eyes dart nervously to Delores.

“It’s either her or the gun,” Luther says. “You decide.”

They stare each other down for a drawn-out, tense moment. Luther lets the mannequin slip out of his fingers, and Five drops the rifle as he jumps to the fire escape to catch her, Luther catching the rifle before it hits the floor.

“I can keep doin’ this all day,” Luther says, looking at Klaus like he wants him to try to put up a fight as well. He _should_ , right? This is their only viable plan, and Luther may be willing to damage a shop mannequin, but there’s no way he’d hurt an actual _person_. He’s too big a softie for that sort of thing. So why does Klaus get the impression it’s a losing battle?

“Fine,” Five says through gritted teeth, cradling Delores’ face in an uncomfortably tender way.

“I know you’re still a good person, Five,” Luther says gently. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have risked everything coming back here to save us all. But you’re not alone anymore, either of you.”

“There is _one_ other option,” Five says, finally looking up from his inanimate girlfriend to look not at Luther, but at Klaus, an apologetic expression on his face. “But it’s just about impossible.”

Objectively speaking, it makes more sense for Five to go alone. Objectively speaking, Klaus spent his day of torture making it crystal-clear to Hazel and Cha-Cha that he had no interest in returning to his old job, and so his presence when they’re requesting a meeting with the Handler would only raise suspicions.

Objectively speaking, this plan sucks, Klaus hates it, and Five is going to get himself killed.

Klaus and Dave sit on the fire escape, Delores propped next to them, watching as Luther and Five drive off with the busted briefcase. Klaus makes sure to make her wave as they pass, and Five flips him off.

“Okay, _please_ explain the mannequin,” Dave says desperately. “It’s creepin’ me the hell out.”

“You and me both, babe,” Klaus sighs, unceremoniously tossing her through the open window behind them, where she bounces off of Five’s bed and onto the floor with a hollow _thud_. “Five’s girlfriend, do _not_ ask.”

“Oh, well there’s my curiosity completely sated,” Dave teases.

“It’s _weird_ ,” Klaus complains. “Like, it was weird when he was a kid, and then it was weirder when he wasn’t, but we buried her! Twenty years ago! Ben wrote a touching eulogy and everything.”

Dave nods sympathetically, and Klaus leans over to rest his head on his shoulder, relaxing when Dave reaches up to lazily card his fingers through Klaus’ hair.

“I _tried_ to make him get rid of her pretty much from the get-go,” Klaus says. “But then I was like ‘well, he’s a kid and everyone he ever knew or loved is dead, maybe I could let it slide and he’ll grow out of it’.”

“Except he didn’t,” Dave says.

“I’m pretty sure he knows she isn’t real, but I also decided I don’t really want to know for certain,” Klaus says. He sighs again. “I don’t know, maybe he wouldn’t’ve clung so hard to her if…”

If what, though? There are a lot of things he would’ve done differently from those first few years, if he had the chance; so many that it’s hard to untangle one terrible decision from another. And Delores had been part of their fucked-up little family before Five even found Klaus.

“No use worrying about the past,” Dave says gently. Klaus shrugs.

“Hey, speaking of worrying about things,” Klaus says, not loving his phrasing but barreling along anyway. “You never said what you wanted to do with your future, if we manage to save the world.”

“Not a damn clue,” Dave says cheerfully. Klaus lifts his head to glare at him. “Don’t look at me like that- I didn’t think I _had_ a future, a few months ago.”

“That sucks,” Klaus says plainly, a reaffirmation of a discussion they’ve had a dozen times. Like always, Dave nods indulgently.

“I’ll figure it out, okay?” Dave says. “We’ve got all the time in the world, the two of us. I’m sure I’ll come up with something eventually.”

“Davey, that is a one-way ticket to infinite procrastination,” Klaus says. “C’mon, you must’ve had ideas, at least when you were a kid.”

“Unless they made math a lot easier, I’m not going to space anytime soon,” Dave says.

“I don’t know, Luther got pretty bad grades in trig,” Klaus muses. “I guess that doesn’t matter as much when your Daddy’s got too much money and questionable ethics.”

“I still can’t believe he lived on the _Moon_ ,” Dave shakes his head. “Seriously! The fucking _Moon_? And he just _lived_ there?”

“Like I said,” Klaus says. “Pops couldn’t just deal with his problems like a normal person, could he? Nah, the _stylish_ option is to fling them into space. Sounds like a solid plan to me, absolutely no downsides for anyone, no sir!”

“I love the future,” Dave sighs. “Not sure I love your Dad, though.”

“Good,” Klaus pecks him on the cheek, thoroughly enjoying the way Dave’s cheeks color at the action. “I _knew_ you had good taste.”

“Well, I do like _you_ ,” Dave says. “Seems a good indicator to me.”

Klaus is put in the _terrible_ position of having to kiss him breathless over that; them’s the rules, and what’s he going to do- _argue_ with them? He’s a law-abiding citizen, after all.

“I _told_ you you’d like doing things my way,” Diego laughs as he and a strange woman pile into Dad’s old car. He raps his knuckles on the dash while Luther tries to get them as far away from Hazel and Cha-Cha as possible.

“I’m going to be in _so_ much shit if I’m reinstated,” The woman groans, her voice muffled from the hands pressed to her face. “How the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

“‘Cause I’m cute,” Diego says. She snorts, letting the hands drop away.

“Either of you want to explain what the hell you were doing there?” Luther asks. He glances at the woman lounging in the backseat. “Or who this is?”

“You can call me Patch,” The woman says, talking over Diego who, surprisingly, lets her. “Diego and I are… old friends.”

“From the police academy,” Diego says.

“I thought you got kicked out,” Luther says.

“Doesn’t mean I had to cut contact with my classmates,” Diego shrugs.

“Right,” Luther scoffs. As if that hadn’t been _exactly_ what Diego had done when he’d left the Academy. Why would it be any different at another? Diego glowers, likely knowing Luther’s thought process.

“What were _you_ doing, meeting with those maniacs?” The woman- Patch- asks. “I mean, we were following them, and, uh-“

“Getting justice,” Diego supplies.

“Yeah, sure,” She says, shifting uncomfortably. She sighs again. “Jesus, that was a stupid move.”

“Uh, yeah, so,” Luther clears his throat. “Five set up a meeting with them, and he wanted backup.”

“So why didn’t he just take Klaus?” Diego asks.

“He’s okay?” Patch asks. Diego rolls his eyes.

“Showed up this morning dragging his new boytoy,” He says. “Said it’d been damn near a year.”

“He vanished _last night_ ,” She says.

“Five’s not the only one who can time-travel, apparently,” He shrugs.

“Klaus said- said uh, he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with their old job,” Luther says, desperately trying to drag them all back on topic. It’s a familiar song-and-dance, though he’s more used to Klaus being the one to derail. He supposes he still is, in a somewhat tangential way. “So it’d ruin their plan if he showed up.”

“What was the plan?” Diego asks.

Luther clears his throat.

“They didn’t tell you the plan,” Diego laughs. “Oh, that is… _choice_. Not so fun, being kept out of the loop, is it?”

“Dad didn’t think you guys-“

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Diego snaps.

Any desire to defend their father leaves Luther in an instant. He _could_ say ‘he didn’t know’, or ‘plans don’t always work out’, but all it would accomplish is making Diego angrier, and making him feel worse.

“I made the wrong call,” He says quietly.

“I’ll say,” Diego shakes his head, glaring out the window. His shoulders slump a little. “Look, we were kids, right? Hell, even _I_ thought Dad-“

“That Dad wouldn’t let one of us die?” Luther finishes for him.

Diego nods, still watching the scenery as it blurs past.

It’s not an apology for how he’d treated Luther over it, and it isn’t absolution of guilt- not that Luther thinks he deserves it; he _was_ supposed to be their Number One, after all- but it’s something. Something that doesn’t feel like it has claws attached like the rest of their interactions since the funeral. Since Diego left the Academy, really.

“So, Klaus and Five’s plan,” Diego says. “What _did_ you know about it?”

“Five set up a meeting, we offered to give their briefcase back if they called their boss, and…” Luther trails off. “I don’t think he was supposed to vanish.”

“I thought Klaus said it ran out of juice,” Diego says.

“Yeah, but it’s not like _they_ knew that,” Luther says.

“Sorry, just- circling back,” Patch says, her voice a little strained. “Are you saying that Five- the _kid_ \- and _Klaus_ used to have the same job as those guys?”

“He’s fifty-eight,” Diego and Luther chorus. They glance uncertainly at each other, trying (at least in Luther’s case) to remember the last time they had been so in-sync. Maybe around the time Five left?

“ _How_?”

It’s only when they’ve finished doing their best to catch her up and are finally pulling into the alley behind the Academy that Luther realizes that, one: he hasn’t thought about how to explain Five’s disappearance to Klaus, and two: he’s pretty sure they forgot to loop Allison in to any of this.

She’s gonna be _pissed_.


	5. Mamma Mia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther calls a family meeting. Vanya is ordinary, isn’t she? Luther calls a family meeting. Five brings news. Luther learns the truth. The gang plot a heist. Dave and Luther get to know each other. Five bleeds out. Diego and Patch take a trip downtown.

“Klaus are you up? We need to- Oh, _Christ_ ,”

“What?! We’re not even doing anything!”

“Klaus, take your hand out of his underwear and try telling me that again,”

“Can’t a man get a little privacy in his own room?” Klaus grumbles, but does as asked. _How_ Luther had known that was what was going on under the blankets, he’s not sure, unless Number One secretly had x-ray vision this whole time. Dave buries his face in Klaus’ shoulder, his own shaking with badly-repressed laughter. “What? What is it? What could _possibly_ be important enough to interrupt the ‘thank god you’re alive’ sex?”

“Uh, family meeting,” Luther coughs. “Downstairs. Like, now-ish.”

“Okay, why?”

“Well, the world’s ending in three days, for starters,” Luther says, clearly having run out of patience.

Klaus groans.

“Fine,” He says. “We’ll be down in ten.”

Luther carefully closes the door behind him, and Dave raises his head when the latch clicks.

“So, raincheck?” He asks coyly, jerking his wrist where _he_ hadn’t been told to remove his hand from, and Klaus stifles a sharp breath.

“Whatever could you mean, David?” He flutters his lashes. “We have ten whole minutes, in case you forgot.”

Dave laughs into his mouth.

They’re five minutes late.

Allison raises her eyebrows at them, smirking and looking away with a slight laugh when Klaus shoots her two enthusiastic thumbs-ups. Diego rolls his eyes at the gesture.

“Okay, now that we’re all _finally_ here,” Luther says. “We should discuss what’s coming.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see what we’re supposed to do about it,” Allison says. “What happened, last time?”

“Uh,” Luther says, giving Klaus an extraordinarily panicked glance before continuing. “Uh, apparently- apparently we all fought against whatever caused it.”

He looks to Klaus again, who rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the coffee Allison hands him.

“Right, so,” Luther clears his throat. “Here’s the plan: we go through Dad’s research-“

“Woah, woah,” Diego holds up his hands. “What _actually_ happened, first time around?”

“Yeah, what aren’t you telling us?” Allison asks.

“We died,” Luther mutters.

“Sorry, what was that?” Diego asks.

“We all died,” Klaus says, deciding it’s about time he saves Luther from himself. The truth is coming out one way or another, and Klaus is more of a fan of loud pride parades than fighting against a closet door. Or something. “You, me, Allison- all of us.”

“But you’re alive,” Allison says. “If you died, how are you alive?”

“Yeah, about that,” Klaus winces. “God hates me- through no fault of my own, thank you!- and I sort of… don’t… stay dead?”

“Are you asking us or telling us?” Allison snaps.

“Hey, gimme one of Diego’s knives and I can prove it to you,” Klaus says. Dave steals his coffee, sighing heavily. “And before any of you ask, _no_ I don’t remember what caused it, and do you really think Five and I would’ve been running around like chickens with our heads cut off all week if I did?”

“Why don’t you remember?” Allison asks.

Klaus shrugs.

“Exactly how high were you?” Diego asks. Allison swats his arm. “Hey, it’s a fair question!”

“Pretty high, probably,” Klaus laughs. “But that’s not it, not entirely.”

“Then what?”

“Again, if I knew, I think we’d have sorted shit out by now,” Klaus says. “Look, I’m no stranger to shitty memory, right? Hell, I do _not_ remember most of ’09, but that’s- that’s beside the point. Point is… Point _is_ : _Ben_ couldn’t remember either.”

“So whatever killed the world, it had to have been crazy powerful,” Luther says, finally jumping back in. “Right?”

“I only know of one thing that can interact with ghosts on that level besides me, and it doesn’t do _that_ ,” Klaus says. Besides, he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell the briefcases could actually kill someone in the conventional sense, let alone seven billion someones. Unless, maybe, they were damaged somehow? Still, after ten months of tinkering with one, he just doesn’t think even the entire stockpile of them could let off enough energy to level a planet.

“Hey,” Comes a timid voice, and they all turn to see Vanya, hovering just inside the doorway, a rather mousy man at her side. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a…” Allison glances at the man. “Family matter.”

“A family matter,” Vanya scoffs, glaring at Dave who offers an apologetic smile. “So you let a stranger in, but you couldn’t bother to include me?”

“No, it’s not like that-“ Allison protests.

“Don’t let me interrupt,”

“No, wait,” Allison takes a step towards her. “I’ll fill you in later, when we’re alone.”

“Please, please, don’t bother,” Vanya says, her voice strained. “And I won’t either.”

“Vanya, that’s not fair,”

“Fair?” Vanya laughs derisively. “There is nothing _fair_ about being your sister. I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad's fault, but he's dead; so it turns out _you’re_ the assholes.”

She storms out without another word, and the mousy man follows with an apologetic smile.

“Ouch,” Klaus says, a little stunned. A ghost trails by, retracing the mousy man’s steps, and Klaus inhales sharply. His head is barely recognizable as a head, and that’s about as mildly as he can describe it. “ _Ouch_.”

“Yeah, she’s vicious,” Diego says. “Big surprise. Can we get back to what the hell happened?”

“No, seriously,” Klaus says, still watching the ghost. “I’m- Luther, you got this, right?”

“What?” Luther asks, panicked, but Klaus is already walking away.

He follows the ghost to the door, then, oddly, back up the stairs, past Dad’s Umbrella Academy memorabilia collection, back down, and through the kitchen out into the rain. He and the ghost catch up to Vanya and the mousy man just in time to see them hurrying away as the deluge stops, Vanya casting panicked looks over her shoulder at-

At every lamppost, bent and warped towards the street. At the parked cars, their alarms echoing off the buildings in a deafening cacophony.

She doesn’t seem to spot Klaus before she rounds the corner.

Klaus hurries back to the Academy, and finds it oddly quiet. Only Dave remains in the living room, sipping his stolen coffee and flicking through one of the history books Five had said would help him get up to speed.

“Hey, where’d you run off to?” He asks, glancing up at Klaus, who’s leaning heavily on the doorframe, deep in thought. “You alright?”

“Ordinary,” He says. “We all described her as ‘ordinary’. Why did we use that word?”

“Babe?”

Klaus traces a finger along the wood.

“I mean, she can’t, right?” He mumbles. “That’s insane! Maybe- maybe her friend… Pogo _did_ always say there were forty-three…”

He startles out of his thoughts when Dave places a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Talk to me,” He says. “What’s going on?”

“Something weird,” Klaus says. “Even for me.”

“That _is_ a high bar to clear,” Dave says.

“Vanya doesn’t have powers,” Klaus begins. “That’s- we _knew_ that, but _why_ did we know that? Why would Dad keep a normal kid in the house? Besides more fodder for his abuse, but somehow I don’t think- _God_ this sounds like I’m absolving him, and I am _not_ \- but I don’t think he… meant to. It wasn’t the goal, anyway.”

“Okay,” Dave says, a small notch forming between his eyebrows as he tries to puzzle out the information Klaus isn’t bothering to include.

“I need to talk to Pogo,” Klaus pulls away, but stops when he hits the hall. Where the hell would the old chimp even be?

A door closes somewhere upstairs, and Luther and Allison walk down shortly after, halting when they draw level with him. And Dave, who’s followed him with no small amount of concern.

“Thanks for running off,” Luther says. “Real easy, answering all those questions without you.”

“I saw something,” Klaus says. “Or, I thought I did, and then it was really something else? But the something else was- I don’t know if ‘worse’ is the right word, exactly.”

“Was it Vanya’s boyfriend?” Allison asks sharply. “Oh, I _knew_ it, he’s _such_ a creep- is she ok?”

“What? No, she’s- she’s fine,” Klaus blinks. “But that explains whose happy haunt that was. Dude’s got some _serious_ anger issues, so actually, maybe she’s not fine?”

“What did you see?” Luther asks, drawing himself up to his full height.

Klaus hesitates.

“Why did we call Vanya ‘ordinary’?” He asks.

“Because she is,” Luther says.

“But why did we use that _word_?” Klaus presses. “I mean, we could’ve said she didn’t have powers, or that she was normal, right? But we always said ‘ordinary _’_.”

“Oh my god,” Allison breathes. They look at her expectantly. “I think I told-“ She swallows thickly. “I think Dad made me tell her she was ordinary.”

“ _What_?”

“We were just kids!” She insists. “He told me she was sick and it would help her get better!”

“Why does it matter?” Luther asks. “She’s just ord- she… she doesn’t have any powers.”

“Would we know?” Klaus asks. “If Dad made Allison tell her that, he probably had her rumor the rest of us to forget anything weird.”

“Oh my god,” Allison repeats.

“Are you- are you saying Vanya has powers?” Luther asks. “Is that what you saw?”

“I don’t know,” Klaus chews his thumb idly. “It could’ve been her boyfriend, maybe? But she seemed- it took _her_ by surprise. She didn’t mention anything weird happening around that guy, did she?”

“No, she wouldn’t even listen to me when I told her he seemed off,” Allison says, thankfully no longer wallowing in the guilt. Which, okay, if Klaus were in her position he’d probably be inclined to do the same. But he’s got a fair bit of practice compartmentalizing his emotions so he can get shit done thanks to Five’s recklessness. When all of this is over, Five’s footing like, half his therapy bill.

“Vanya has powers,” He says, testing the idea out.

Somehow, saying the words out loud clicks the last piece into place.

“Vanya’s the bomb,” He says.

“Klaus are you up? We need to- Oh, _Christ_ ,”

“What?! We’re not even doing anything!”

“Klaus, take your hand out of his underwear and try telling me that again,”

“Can’t a man get a little privacy in his own room?” Klaus grumbles, but does as asked. _How_ Luther had known that was what was going on under the blankets, he’s not sure, unless Number One secretly had x-ray vision this whole time. Dave buries his face in Klaus’ shoulder, his own shaking with badly-repressed laughter. “What? What is it? What could _possibly_ be important enough to interrupt the ‘thank god you’re alive’ sex?”

“Uh, family meeting,” Luther coughs. “Downstairs. Like, now-ish.”

“Okay, why?”

“Well, the world’s ending in three days, for starters,” Luther says, clearly having run out of patience.

Klaus groans.

“Fine,” He says. “We’ll be down in ten.”

Luther carefully closes the door behind him, and Dave raises his head when the latch clicks.

“So, raincheck?” He asks coyly, jerking his wrist where _he_ hadn’t been told to remove his hand from, and Klaus stifles a sharp breath.

“Whatever could you mean, David?” He flutters his lashes. “We have ten whole minutes, in case you forgot.”

Dave laughs into his mouth.

They’re five minutes late.

Allison raises her eyebrows at them, smirking and looking away with a slight laugh when Klaus shoots her two enthusiastic thumbs-ups. Diego rolls his eyes at the gesture.

“Okay, now that we’re all _finally_ here,” Luther says. “We should discuss what’s coming.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see what we’re supposed to do about it,” Allison says. “What happened, last time?”

“Uh,” Luther says, giving Klaus an extraordinarily panicked glance before continuing. “Uh, apparently- apparently we all fought against whatever caused it.”

He looks to Klaus again, who rolls his eyes and takes a sip of the coffee Allison hands him.

“Right, so,” Luther clears his throat. “Here’s the plan: we go through Dad’s research-“

“Woah, woah,” Diego holds up his hands. “What _actually_ happened, first time around?”

“Yeah, what aren’t you telling us?” Allison asks.

“We died,” Luther mutters.

“Sorry, what was that?” Diego asks.

“We all died,” Klaus says, deciding it’s about time he saves Luther from himself. The truth is coming out one way or another, and Klaus is more of a fan of loud pride parades than fighting against a closet door. Or something. “You, me, Allison- all of us.”

“But you’re alive,” Allison says. “If you died, how are you alive?”

“Yeah, about that,” Klaus winces. “God hates me- through no fault of my own, thank you!- and I sort of… don’t… stay dead?”

“Are you asking us or telling us?” Allison snaps.

“Hey, gimme one of Diego’s knives and I can prove it to you,” Klaus says. Dave steals his coffee, sighing heavily. “And before any of you ask, _no_ I don’t remember what caused it, and do you really think Five and I would’ve been running around like chickens with our heads cut off all week if I did?”

“Why don’t you remember?” Allison asks.

Klaus shrugs.

“Exactly how high were you?” Diego asks. Allison swats his arm. “Hey, it’s a fair question!”

“Pretty high, probably,” Klaus laughs. “But that’s not it, not entirely.”

“Then what?”

“Again, if I knew, I think we’d have sorted shit out by now,” Klaus says. “Look, I’m no stranger to shitty memory, right? Hell, I do _not_ remember most of ’09, but that’s- that’s beside the point. Point is… Point _is_ : _Ben_ couldn’t remember either.”

“So whatever killed the world, it had to have been crazy powerful,” Luther says, finally jumping back in. “Right?”

“I only know of one thing that can interact with ghosts on that level besides me, and it doesn’t do _that_ ,” Klaus says. Besides, he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell the briefcases could actually kill someone in the conventional sense, let alone seven billion someones. Unless, maybe, they were damaged somehow? Still, after ten months of tinkering with one, he just doesn’t think even the entire stockpile of them could let off enough energy to level a planet.

“Hey,” Comes a timid voice, and they all turn to see Vanya, hovering just inside the doorway, a rather mousy man at her side. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a…” Allison glances at the man. “Family matter.”

“A family matter,” Vanya scoffs, glaring at Dave who offers an apologetic smile. “So you let a stranger in, but you couldn’t bother to include me?”

“No, it’s not like that-“ Allison protests.

“Don’t let me interrupt,”

“No, wait,” Allison takes a step towards her. “I’ll fill you in later, when we’re alone.”

“Please, please, don’t bother,” Vanya says, her voice strained. “And I won’t either.”

“Vanya, that’s not fair,”

“Fair?” Vanya laughs derisively. “There is nothing _fair_ about being your sister. I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad's fault, but he's dead; so it turns out _you’re_ the assholes.”

She storms out without another word, and the mousy man follows with an apologetic smile.

“Ouch,” Klaus says, a little stunned. A ghost trails by, retracing the mousy man’s steps, and Klaus inhales sharply. His head is barely recognizable as a head, and that’s about as mildly as he can describe it. “ _Ouch_.”

“Yeah, she’s vicious,” Diego says. “Big surprise. Can we get back to what the hell happened?”

“No, seriously,” Klaus says, still watching the ghost. “I’m- Luther, you got this, right?”

He takes a step towards the entry hall, only for the sound of a briefcase to tear his attention away from the ghost and towards a small figure rolling off the bartop with a grunt.

“Jesus!” Allison exclaims. “Are you alright?”

“Where have you been?” Luther demands. “Who did this to you?”

“Irrelevant,” Five says, pushing up to his feet and tossing the briefcase aside carelessly. He steals the coffee cup from Allison’s hands and limps towards the couches, pausing at the closest one as he chugs before turning to face them. “So, the Apocalypse is in three days, and the only chance we have to save the world is- well, us.”

“The Umbrella Academy,” Luther says with a hint of pride. Klaus takes his coffee back from Dave and takes a long sip. He needs _so_ much caffeine to deal with… any of this. Whatever hare-brained plan Five’s come up with, certainly.

“Yeah, but with us this time,” Five gestures wildly at Klaus and the empty patch of air next to him, presumably assuming it contains Ben, who’s actually on the next level up, rearranging Dad’s library; a task he had started with an uncomfortable amount of glee, despite Klaus’ reminder that the dead fucker a) wouldn’t know, and b) had point-blank refused to manifest any of the hundreds of times Klaus had tried to call on him post-Apocalypse, and therefore couldn’t actually care all that much about what his (adopted!) kiddos are up to. “And to give us a fighting chance, I’ve come back with a lead. I know who’s responsible for the Apocalypse.”

He fishes a telegram out of his blazer pocket and brandishes it at the group.

“This is who we have to stop,” He says.

Allison recovers first, snatching it from his outstretched hand and unfolding the crumpled paper.

“Harold Jenkins?” She asks.

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” Diego squints at the paper. Klaus reaches over and takes it from Allison. Five slurps his stolen coffee loudly.

A protection order. Why is he not surprised?

“I’m sorry, am I the only one who’s skeptical here?” Allison says. “I mean, how exactly do you know all this about what’s his name?”

“Harold Jenkins,” Five says. “You know the lunatics in masks who attacked the Academy?”

“Rings a bell,” Diego says.

“They were sent by the Temps Commission, our former employer,” Five gestures between himself and Klaus. “To stop us from coming back and preventing the end of human life on Earth. They monitor all of time and space, issuing corrections when the timeline diverges; they believe the world will end in three days.”

He tosses the empty coffee cup behind him, and the paper sleeve goes flying off somewhere in the opposite direction. Klaus tsks at him, earning himself a glare.

“We don’t live in a landfill anymore, that’s all,” Klaus says.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Five says, rolling his eyes. “I went to Commission headquarters and intercepted a message intended for said lunatics; ‘protect Harold Jenkins’. Ergo, he must be responsible for the Apocalypse.”

“I thought you said targets weren’t that direct,” Dave says. Five eyes him appraisingly.

“That’s true, but this is a desperation move,” He says. “They suspected me, or they figured out my plans, and they panicked. I just don’t see them thinking it through that well.”

“Even if he isn’t the specific cause of the Apocalypse, finding him and, y’know,” Klaus mimes shooting a gun. “It’ll shake things up enough that we should get the armageddon train firmly off the rails.”

“‘Should’?” Allison asks incredulously. “So, it’s not even a sure thing?”

“Nothing is sure,” Five says. ”Everything is chaos. But this… this is about as certain as it gets. They wouldn’t have named this specific person if he weren’t instrumental to the end of the world.”

“Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?” She asks.

“You know what else is insane?” Five asks, his voice straining with barely-suppressed frustration. “I look like a thirteen year-old boy! Klaus speaks to the dead, and Luther thinks he’s fooling everybody with that overcoat! Everything about us is insane, always has been.”

“He’s got a point,” Diego mutters. Allison glares at him.

“The last time we tried to stop it, we all died,” She says. There’s some hesitation to it, like she’s finding it hard to keep disagreeing, but is sticking to her position out of a stubborn need to be right. “How is this any different? Why shouldn’t I go home to my daughter?”

“Because this time, _I’m_ here, we have the name of the man responsible, and Klaus knows what the fuck he’s doing with his powers,” Five says.

“More or less,” Klaus says. Five stomps on his foot.

“Guys, we have the chance to save billions of lives,” He says. “ _Including_ Claire.”

Allison straightens slightly, taken aback.

“You know her name?” She asks quietly.

“I do,” Five says, just as soft. “And I’d like to live long enough to meet her.”

“Alright,” She laughs. “Let’s get this bastard.”

“You had me at Gerald Jenkins,” Diego says.

“ _Harold_ Jenkins,” Five corrects.

“Whatever,” Diego says. “I lost one person already this week, damn near lost two others. I’m not losing anyone else.”

“And Luther?” Five turns to him expectantly.

“Yeah, you go. I’m gonna stay and go through Dad’s files,” Luther says, brow furrowed. “I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon.”

“Seriously? Now you wanna make the end of the world about you and Dad?” Diego scoffs.

“No, ‘watch for threats’, that’s what he told me,” Luther draws himself up to his full height, and Klaus can already see the fight that’s about to play out. The bruises that haven’t begun to bloom. He takes another sip of his coffee. “You think that’s a coincidence? It has to be connected somehow.”

“No, we should all stick together,” Diego says.

“We don’t have time for this,” Five interrupts.

“Let’s roll. I know where we can find this asshole. Klaus, you’re with me,” Diego makes for the door without waiting for a response. Five and Allison follow.

“There anything I can do to help?” Dave asks. Diego halts in his tracks, looking more than a little surprised at the question. Like he’d forgotten Dave was there. Allison and Luther wear similar expressions, though both seem like they feel a lot more guilty about it. “I know I don’t have powers like you guys, but I can hold my own in a fight, and this is pretty damn important.”

“You should get some rest,” Klaus says. “You’ve had a kinda rough couple of days here, Davey.”

“I’m not gonna sit on my ass waiting for the world to end,” Dave snorts. “I’m helping, any way I can.”

“I’ve only got so much room in my car,” Diego says.

“Luther, you could probably use a hand digging through the research, yeah?” Klaus asks, flashing a pleading smile. Honestly, he’s more than a little relieved that Dave (probably) won’t be in the line of fire, at least for one day. Even if it does mean splitting up, the thought of which makes his stomach roll uneasily. They can’t stay joined at the hip forever though, and Dave is bound to get sick of it a hell of a lot faster than Klaus.

“Yeah, sure,” Luther says. “I mean, there’s about four years’ worth, so it might take a while. Probably pretty boring, too.”

“Man, what’s boring about the _Moon_?” Dave laughs.

The more Dave learns about Klaus’ father, the less he likes the man.

All Klaus had ever said about Reginald Hargreeves ( _Sir_ Reginald Hargreeves, apparently) was that he was a bastard unfamiliar with the concept of good parenting. So Dave’s opinion of him hadn’t exactly been high to begin with, and by the time he and Luther even make it to Reginald’s study it’s reached a pretty spectacular low, and that’s just from his décor choices.

“How many portraits of himself does a guy need?” Dave eyes the oil painting behind the desk dubiously. It’s the fourth he’s seen since setting foot in the house, but something tells him there are more scattered about.

“Dad liked paintings,” Luther shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it is, for obnoxiously rich people; it’s not like Dave’s spent a lot of time with them. “Okay, I’ll go through his desk, you check the bookshelves and cabinets.”

“What am I looking for?” Dave asks.

“Samples, reports,” Luther says. “It should be labeled; I was pretty careful about that.”

There are a _lot_ of weirdly-labeled things in Reginald’s study, and it takes every ounce of self-control Dave has not to crack open one of the files or poke at a glass-encased specimen, but none of it seems to have anything to do with the Moon. One of the things he _does_ find is a file cabinet stuffed to the brim with pamphlets for the ‘Hotel Oblivion’, wherever that is (he’d given in to curiosity when Luther wasn’t looking and flipped through one, but it had left him with more questions than answers, as well as a distinct feeling of unease), but again, no Moon.

They’ve tossed the entire room by the time Pogo attracts their attention with a light knock on the doorframe.

“Is everything alright, Master Luther?” He asks.

“Where are they?” Luther asks, out of breath and almost desperate. “The boxes, the reports, the- the samples? All the correspondences I sent down from the Moon?”

“I, ah,” Pogo shifts from foot to foot, not quite meeting Luther’s eyes. “I’m not sure. Your father… was a very private person-“

“Stop it, Pogo,” Luther snaps. The chimp looks up, startled. “You knew everything our Dad did.”

Pogo sighs, and with great reluctance, gestures to the rug with his cane.

“What?” Luther blinks. Dave pulls the rug away to reveal a trap door.

“Clever old man,” He laughs. Sure, a secret compartment in an old man’s study, filled with scientific data from the fucking _Moon_. Why the hell not? Everything else about this seems ripped straight out of a pulp novel, and this would fit right in with the typical genre fare.

Luther pulls the door open to reveal a pile of bags, each with a seal, each seal fully intact.

Luther picks one up, cradling it in his oversized hands.

“He never even looked at them,” He murmurs. He turns to Pogo with quite possibly the most painful expression Dave has ever seen on a living person. “Why not?”

Pogo hesitates.

“Why not?!” Luther shouts.

“Your father was many things, but… forthright was not one of them,” Pogo says eventually. “After your accident, he wanted to give you purpose, Master Luther. He felt that this was the only way.”

“What? Shanghaiing me on the Moon for four years?” Luther says. “I wasn’t a good enough Number One? Is that what it was? I couldn’t cut it, so he sent me away?”

“No, no, that’s not-“ Pogo begins.

“Please leave,” Luther closes his eyes.

“Master Luther-“

“Go, Pogo,”

Pogo limps away, but not without great reluctance, nor without a fair few worried looks back at the study. Luther doesn’t so much as breathe until the taps of his cane have faded away.

“I’m sorry,” Dave says. “I know that doesn’t help, but I guess that’s what you’re supposed to say to this kind of thing.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Luther agrees. He opens his eyes, a few tears running down his face. “Diego was right. He couldn’t stand the sight of me after what he did. It- it would’ve been better, if he’d let me die.”

“Don’t say that,” Dave pleads. He wishes Klaus were here right now, or literally any of Luther’s siblings. How is he, a complete stranger supposed to comfort him? Everything he knows about the man is filtered through Klaus’ memories of a liftetime ago, and none of it is enough to know what to say about something like this, nor does he feel like he has the right to. Actually, he doesn’t think he’d know how to comfort _anyone_ about this. Like everything else from the past few days, this seems like a pretty once-in-a-lifetime experience. Once in a really, _really_ weird lifetime, which seems to be how his is shaking out.

“I really thought I was different from them, y’know?” Luther says, nestling the bag back among the dozens of identical ones. “I thought because I stayed, because I was _loyal_ \- I thought it meant I was stronger, _better_. But look at me, I’m…”

He sighs, scrubbing more tears from his face.

“I’m crying in front of a complete stranger, because I was stupid enough to believe he actually cared about _me_ ,” He laughs derisively. “I need a drink.”

“You sure that’s the best idea?” Dave asks, thinking of the rampant ‘self-medication’ back on base. How Klaus had fought tooth and nail to cut his back from a flood to a trickle.

“The hell do you know?” Luther glares at him, getting to his feet. “I just found out I wasted my _entire_ life- you know, I never even had _friends_? I barely left the damn house, and…”

He kicks the trap door closed, leaving Dave to scurry backward to avoid getting his fingers slammed.

“I need a drink,” Luther repeats.

“What are we doing here?” Five asks, craning his neck to stare at the two-story walk-up with deep suspicion. “We need to find Harold Jenkins.”

“Yeah, which is why I called a friend,” Diego says. He honks the horn impatiently.

“ _Ugh_ , why with the loud?” Klaus complains. Five turns in his seat to find his brother lounging across the back row, head in Allison’s lap as she absently plays with his hair, braiding and unbraiding tiny strands with practiced speed.

“We don’t have time for this,” Five says.

“She’ll be out in a minute,” Diego says, honking the horn again. This time prolonged, drawing a piteous whine out of Klaus. “What’s your deal, man?”

“I am _so_ hungover,” Klaus says. “Unbelievably hungover.”

“You had _one_ bottle of wine, Klaus,” Allison laughs. “Aren’t you ‘what the kids call a ‘functioning alcoholic’’?”

“Are those my words? Are you throwing my own words back at me?” Klaus asks. “I dunno. I cut back, I guess.”

“You guess?” Five raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you pull your flask once since you got back.”

“Hey, what happened to Mr. We’re On A Schedule, huh?” Klaus says. “Now you’re giving me the third degree?”

“I’m invested in my brother’s life, sue me,” Five says. “How long were you sober?”

“Five, buddy, _Cinco_ , Hawaii Five-oh,” Klaus says. “I was in fucking _Vietnam_ , do you really think I ever got fully dry? In any sense of the word?”

“That’s not an answer,”

“You’re annoying, did anyone ever tell you that? Diego, tell him he’s annoying,” Klaus whacks the back of Diego’s seat with a flailing hand.

“You’re _both_ annoying,” Diego says. “Look: there she is now. Told you she’d be out.”

The woman from the motel, Diego’s cop friend- Blotch, maybe? No, that can’t be right- opens the rear passenger side door.

“Shit, he _is_ alive,” She says, staring at Klaus.

“Should I not be?” Klaus asks, smiling politely up at her. She nudges his legs off the seat, and he moves to sit upright in the center spot, folding in on himself to take up the least room possible while avoiding hitting anyone with his (as Five is all too aware) _extraordinarily_ sharp elbows.

“Well, you left a puddle of grey matter at one crime scene and crawled bloody out of another,” She says, pulling the door shut behind her with a _slam_. Diego pulls away from the curb, and they make their way back to the morning traffic. “So imagine my surprise when Diego says you came back, ten months older and fully healed. You look good, for a corpse.”

“Oh, well _danke_!” Klaus beams. “Five, why don’t _you_ ever compliment me like that?”

“I make a point not to tell lies,” Five lies. Klaus hisses at him.

“Hi, I’m Allison,” Allison says, interrupting their little brotherly love-fest before it can really get going.

“The movie star, yeah?” Diego’s friend asks. Allison nods, her smile getting a little tighter around the edges. Which is… interesting. Another thing for Five to probe at, once the world is saved. “You can call me Patch, everyone does.”

“Except _Diegooo_ ,” Klaus croons, leaning forward to rest his chin on the back of the bench seat. Diego pushes him back by the face without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror. “Rude!”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to call me Patch too,” Patch says. There’s a strange warmth to her tone, and Five really cannot be bothered to get dragged into yet more of his siblings’ relationship weirdness. Not right now, anyway. Again, there’ll be plenty of time to meddle later.

“Where are we going now?” He asks, turning around once more to face the windshield, glad for once of his younger body. If he were his old self, he would’ve had motion sickness the second the car started. It’s the small things, he supposes; though he _had_ been tempted to stick around at the Commission until they fixed him up a new body. Just a little.

“We’re gonna go to the station and hope I can get a favor out of Beeman,” Patch says. “Which, for the record, Diego? It isn’t going to happen. He’s already in hot enough shit because I’m his partner and I went rogue; he’s not going to just hand over a file, least of all to either of _us_.”

“We’ll ask politely,” Diego says, doubt creeping into his tone.

“I’ll just blink in and get the file myself,” Five says. “In and out in two seconds. Why did you even think of a different option?”

“…I forgot,” Diego mutters.

“There’s cameras all over the file room,” Patch says. “They’ll see you take it, and it won’t take long for whoever catches you to connect you to the diner.”

“I think a touch of legal trouble doesn’t really compare to the end of life as we know it,” Five sneers. “Besides, I’m too fast for them to catch me.”

“Yeah, but you’re wearing the old Academy uniform,” Klaus says, studiously ignoring the venemous glare Five shoots over his shoulder. “And if they take you in for questioning, they might take your prints.”

“…Shit,” Five says.

“Why would his prints be in the system?” Allison asks. “You’re the only one who got arrested before we moved out.”

“Well you see, the thing about being a time-hopping assassin,” Klaus says. “You don’t really worry about stuff like evidence, because you’ll never be around long enough for the cops to catch up to you.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Patch says. “It was you two!”

“What did we do?” Klaus asks. ”Specifically, I mean?”

“The prints from the ’30s cold case,” Diego says with a breathless chuckle. “Damn.”

“You guys killed five gunmen, by yourselves?” She asks, incredulous.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I was oozing brain onto the linoleum for most of it,” Klaus protests.

“Gee, thanks for the support, Four,” Five scoffs.

They pull level to the police precinct, and Diego makes to kill the engine.

“Leave it running,” Five says. “Two seconds, tops.”

“Wait!” Klaus shouts, making every occupant of the car jump half out of their skin. “I can fry the cameras, I think.”

“What?” Five asks. “How?”

“Two minutes,” Klaus says, scrambling over Allison and out of the car, where he stops on the sidewalk.

Through the glass, they can hear him talking to someone not currently occupying their plane of reality. A few moments later, his hands glow blue, then fade back to normal. He turns back to the car, triumphant, and announces something.

“What?” Five calls, cupping a hand around his ear in an exaggerated motion. “I can’t hear you, speak up!”

Klaus sighs dramatically and yanks the door open.

“I _said_ ,” He says, crawling over Allison once more. She lets out a noise of protest and shoves at him, and he falls to the floor, where he props himself up on his elbows to meet Five’s expectant eyebrow. “You’ve got three minutes until the cameras are back online.”

Five jumps to the file room and gets to searching. It takes thirty-seven seconds.

The moment he zaps back into the car, Allison steals the file from his hands.

“Harold Jenkins is Leonard Peabody,” She says, as if that means literally anything to anyone else. It means more when she turns the folder around to show them the mugshot.

“What’d he go away for?” Diego asks, snatching the file out of her hands and rifling through it.

“Turned a guy’s head into a piñata,” Klaus says, picking at his nails disinterestedly.

“How’d you know?” Allison asks.

“I saw his ghost following our dear Harry around this morning,” Klaus says. “I was gonna follow him, see who he belonged to, but Five decided to inject a little more drama into our lives.”

“You’re the one who says entrances should make an impression,” Five says. “Who was the victim, anyway?”

“His Dad,” Diego says, frowning at the report. “It says he was only thirteen when he was arrested.”

“There a current address listed?” Patch asks.

“What’s this called again?” Luther asks, scrutinizing the glass uncertainly.

“ _This_ , my friend,” Dave says, stabbing paper umbrellas in each of their glasses. “Is the Blue Hawaii.”

“What, like the Elvis movie?” Luther asks. “Why’s it so… blue?”

Dave sets the bottle of blue curaçao on the bartop.

“I think they dye it,” He says. “It’s actually made from citrus, funnily enough. I would’ve sworn up down and sideways it was- actually, I’m not sure what I thought it was. Not _citrus_.”

“Huh,” Luther says. He raises his glass and takes a long sip, pulling away with a grimace. “Holy _hell_ that’s sour.”

“Yeah, I think I added too much pineapple juice,” Dave goes in for a sip from his own, then raises it to eye-level, tilting it so the ice catches the light. It _does_ look a touch paler than he thinks it’s supposed to be. “And too much sweet-and-sour mix.”

“It’s not great,” Luther says, as politely as is possible. Dave cracks a grin.

“It’s pretty awful,” He agrees, and Luther laughs. “Okay, next drink: Fog Cutter.”

He slides the next cocktail over from the awaiting crowd of glasses, cups, and tumblers, and they take their first sips in unison.

“Not bad,” Luther says. “A bit strong. Where’d you learn to make all these, anyway?”

“My brother,” Dave says, the words feeling a bit thick in his mouth. There had been a fair few drinks before the Blue Hawaii, and he’s starting to think he might want to consider slowing down. At least for a bit. “Before I moved down to Dallas, he worked at this tiki bar in Milwaukee. Think he quit after about a month, but he still got around to teaching me how to bartend.”

“You have a big family?”

“Not as big as you guys, but,” Dave shrugs. “Yeah. Two brothers and a little sister.”

Luther nods, nursing his drink.

“Were you close?” He asks.

Dave snorts, tipping back his glass and draining the contents before replying.

“ _They_ were close,” He says, swirling the dregs and listening to the ice cubes clanking around the bottom of the cup. “I was just kinda along for the ride.”

“I’m sorry,” Luther says.

“Ah, hell,” Dave says, looking up with a wry smile. “I’m supposed to be cheerin’ _you_ up, man. I don’t know, it is what it is, no use feeling bad about shit I can’t change.”

“Still,” Luther says, painfully earnest in a way that makes Dave kind of want to slap him. Dave’s not so good with pity, or sympathy. He’s received his fair share of both, but no one ever bothered to tell him what to do with it, so it just sort of sits uncomfortably in his chest. “That sounds lonely, I-“

He looks away guiltily.

“It kinda sounds like how we treated Vanya, honestly,” He says.

Dave clears his throat, once again so far out of his depth that he hasn’t seen land for weeks.

“Hey, you ever hear of a Flaming Zombie?” He asks instead.

“Do you have to ask?” Luther chuckles. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s this drink called a Zombie,” Dave says. “But you set it on fire.”

“Show me,”

“C’mon, we’re leaving,” Diego says, passing the room Klaus is searching in one hell of a rush.

“What? We just got here!” Klaus says, but trudges after him all the same. The reason for his haste becomes clear when Patch and Allison walk past, carrying an unconscious, sweaty Five between them. Klaus picks up the pace. “What the hell happened? He was fine like, two minutes ago!”

“Yeah, tell that to the shrapnel wound,” Patch says. The two of them load him into the backseat of Diego’s Crown Vic, leaving Klaus to scramble into the passenger seat before Diego floors it away from Peabody-slash-Jenkins’ house.

“When did he even _get_ that?” Allison asks, hands hovering around the dark stain on Five’s sweater vest like she isn’t quite sure what to do. Klaus could _swear_ Dad had taught them first aid for this, but maybe it had been one of those medical things he’d had to pick up on the fly or from textbooks as Five grew up and got more and more reckless. Not to mention his little explosives phase, or his arson phase, or that one week after he found a book on parkour when he was, what, fifteen? Sixteen? He thinks it’s a damn miracle Five hadn’t- at _bare minimum_ \- lost a limb. Klaus is just that good of a nurse, he supposes.

“Must’ve happened on his way out of HQ,” Klaus says, because it makes sense. They wouldn’t just let him walk out with a briefcase, now would they? And there _had_ been an awful lot of drywall dust on his blazer this morning. All signs are pointing to explosion.

“Should we pull it out?” Diego asks. “There’s gotta be all kinds of bacteria on it, right?”

“No,” Klaus says sharply. “Don’t even touch it- seriously Alli, no pressure on the wound.”

She moves her hands away, looking somewhat doubtful.

“Nobody’s got water, do they? To flush the site?” He asks, getting three shaken heads in response. “Alright, we just- we gotta get him home.”

“He’s losing an awful lot of blood, Klaus,” Allison says. “Are you sure-?”

“Trust me,” He barks out a bitter laugh. “I’ve dealt with shrapnel before.”

He reaches a hesitant hand over the back of the seat, smoothing Five’s damp hair from his burning forehead. Except for the clothes, he looks damn near identical to when his broken leg had got infected about a year after the end of the world. About a year from now.

“You little _asshole_ ,” He says softly. “If you die on me, I will _never_ forgive you, do you hear me? I thought we were clear on that! Trust me, buddy, your afterlife will be anything but peaceful.”

“He means it,” Ben says. “I haven’t had a moment’s peace since I was laid to rest.”

“He’ll be okay,” Patch says, her tone unconvincing, let alone her expression.

Diego gets them back to the Academy in record time, only narrowly avoiding collisions five times, all while catching Klaus up on what little he’d missed since they split up. Patch and Allison rush Five inside, leaving Diego and Klaus in the dust.

Klaus stands on the sidewalk, staring through the open front door long after they’ve disappeared around the corner.

“He’ll pull through,” Diego says, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Klaus just shakes his head, and finally makes his way inside, floating past the living room without much direction. The sound of voices from within makes him double back.

“…And _then_ , he tells me he’s almost eighty years old, but hasn’t even been born yet? Mind you, I’ve still got his blood _all_ over me, and I’m damn near certain one of his molars was in my hair,” Dave says, leaning heavily on the bar. Luther nods drowsily, slumped next to him.

“Holy shit, are you _drinking_?” Klaus laughs, dropping to the floor. The two spin around at the noise, arms flailing as they try to keep their balance. “Holy shit, you’re _drunk_. And you busted into Dad’s liquor cabinet! He’s gonna be so pissed.”

Dave makes violent, over-exaggerated gestures indicating Klaus needs to cut it the hell out, but it’s too late: Luther’s already burst into tears. Loud, messy, too-many-drinks-in tears.

“Hey, hey! Luther, _buddy_ ,” Klaus says, rushing to his brother and patting his shoulders gently. “I didn’t mean it! You know that was just what you used to say to me, right? I was- I was trying to be funny. You know Dad never did shit about _me_ drinking his stash, and… and he’s dead, right? Yeah? So it’s not like you can get in trouble!”

He winces, looking to Dave for help. Dave sips something bright pink out of a daiquiri glass.

“What happened, anyway?” Klaus asks. “We were only gone for a couple hours, what made you guys start day-drinking?”

Luther sniffles, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his coat before answering.

“He never opened any of the files,” He says, voice hoarse. Between that and how red his eyes are, Klaus is gonna go out on a limb and say this isn’t the first sob-fest he’s had, and certainly not the most intense. It’s surprising, but it really shouldn’t be; Luther had always been the most sensitive of them besides Klaus, but he’d never bothered hiding it behind jokes and substance abuse like Number Four. Seems he might be getting a leg up on the competition with the latter half of that, though.

“Files…?” Klaus mutters, thinking hard, pushing past the good half of his brain that went up to the infirmary with Five. Oh _shit_. “Christ on a cracker, the old _goatfucker_.”

Dave snorts into his alcoholic slurpee, and even Luther lets out a breathless sort of half-chuckle.

“Well, at least you’re dealing with it constructively,” Klaus sighs. He pulls a half-empty glass of… something across the bartop towards himself. It’s not a conscious motion, but the hesitation when he lifts the glass is. A heated argument plays out in his head as he tries to convince himself both that it’d be a great idea and that it’d be a terrible idea. He’s winning, but he’s not sure which descriptor is. At least he’s clear on the fact that it’s an _idea_.

“You don’t have to drink, if you don’t wanna,” Dave says. “We got a bit carried away.”

“You’re terrible at peer-pressuring me,” Klaus says fondly. He sets the glass down again and sits on the stool on the other side of Luther, swiveling the seat idly.

“How’d things go on your end?” Luther asks. He picks up the glass Klaus had abandoned and slams it back without so much as a grimace. They’ve been at this a while, then. That at least answers Klaus’ question about exactly how badly Luther had reacted to finding out dearest Daddy didn’t even care for his golden child. “Jenkins dead yet?”

“No,” Klaus eyes another of the half-empty glasses, gaining new fodder for both sides of his argument. “Turns out he’s Vanny’s new boytoy, though? Which, _yeesh_ , I thought _I_ had bad taste in men- present company excluded! Anyway, Five decided to take a little blood-loss nap in Harry’s murder-shrine, so we brought him back.”

“ _What_?” Luther splutters. “That’s- _what_?”

“I _cannot_ deal with how weird this shit is,” Dave says.

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to let me hang around,” Klaus says.

“Worst mistake of my life,” Dave shakes his head, hiding a grin behind a margarita glass Klaus doesn’t recall him picking up. “Explain yourself, before my curiosity gets the better of me and I go shake down one of the other weirdoes for loose details.”

“We’re not _that_ weird,” Luther mumbles.

“No, we’re weirder,” Klaus says.

Luther shrugs in concession.

“ _Apparently_ , Five decided not to mention to anyone that he had a hunk of metal sticking out of him,” Klaus says. “Blood loss caught up to him in Jenkins’ attic, where he had a lovely little art installation with the central theme of ‘death to the Umbrella Academy’. From what Diego described, it was a little too directly representational for my preference, but as the French say, there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Shit,” Luther breathes. “Where’s Vanya?”

“Allison left a message at her place, but after this morning I’m not really expecting her to be in a rush to talk to any of us,” Klaus says. “We’ll find her.”

He doesn’t want to find out what happens if they don’t.

He pulls something with a delightful paper umbrella in it over and takes a long sip, nearly spraying it over the counter when his tastebuds finally decide to have a little chat with his brain.

“Why is this so goddamn _sour_?” He asks.

Luther and Dave burst into hysterical laughter, leaving him either to wallow in his confusion or move on to one of the countless other drinks. He shrugs, and finishes the one in his hand. No sense wasting alcohol, right? Even if it _does_ turn his entire face inside-out.

“Hey, c’mon, we’re going to get Vanya and finish this bastard off,” Diego says, knocking rapidly on the doorframe.

“Diego!” Klaus cries, abandoning his rifling through Luther’s record collection to wrap Diego in a hug. “You look good! New haircut?”

“Changed my sweater,” Diego says, irritated. “Since the last one got blood all over it.”

“Hey, good on you for raising your standards of hygiene,” Klaus says. “Does this mean you’re trying to court Detective Patch again?” He waggles his eyebrows knowingly, and Diego smacks him upside the head.

“Get your shit together, we’re leaving in five,” He glowers. “Get as many hands on deck as you can. Where’s Luther? And… what are you doing in his room?”

“In the living room,” Klaus says. “I think he’s trying to teach Dave the macarena. They’re like a couple of dads at a barbecue.”

Diego squints at him.

“Are you drunk?” He asks accusingly. “I thought you said you cut that shit out!”

“I said I cut _down_ on it,” Klaus corrects. “And forgive me, but I didn’t exactly think I had any other plans for the night. And they looked like they were having so much _fun_.”

“Luther’s drunk,” Diego says dully. “Mr. Boy Scout? Seriously?”

“He found out Dad didn’t love him,” Klaus stage-whispers, then presses a finger to his lips. “Dave and I have a bet going on when he’s gonna throw up, you want in?”

Diego smacks him again.

“Hey! _Ow_!” He complains.

“Yeah, while you’re having _fun_ , the world’s still gunning it towards Judgement Day!” Diego snaps. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Klaus glances to the side, and Diego has to resist the urge to look with him. He’d learned a long time ago that they were never as alone as he would like.

“Ben says you should get a pen,” Klaus says. “And a blank notebook.”

“Cute,” Diego snarks. “Whatever, I’m- I’m washing my hands of this. Allison, Patch, and I will deal with it, and you…”

He trails off, trying to think through his frustration.

“You get those two clowns downstairs to sober up,” He says. “We might need backup.”

He smacks Klaus’ shoulder maybe a little harder than a friendly good-bye should entail, and leaves. He meets Eudora and Allison at the door.

“Let’s go,” He says, brushing past them.

“What about-?” Allison begins.

“Not coming,” He says. “You find Vanya?”

“She’s still not answering her phone, and the receptionist at her music school says she never showed for lessons,” Eudora says. “Jenkins’ file says his grandma had a cabin up near Jackpine road, we could try there?”

“Good enough for me,” He says.

They’re so, _so_ close to his parking spot when he spots the squad car. He grabs Allison’s elbow, Eudora having been smart enough to have already turned around.

“Nope, this way,” He says, tugging her after them.

“What? But your car-“ She says.

“Trust me,”

The siren _bloops_ at them.

“What’s going on?” Allison asks, picking up the pace and pulling her arm out of his grasp.

“They’re here for me,” Eudora says.

“Probably me, too,” Diego says.

“The hell did you two do? Aren’t you a cop?” Allison scoffs.

“Yeah, on probation,” Eudora says. “We may have, I don’t know, committed Grand Theft Auto yesterday?”

“And planted an illegal tracking device, but they don’t need to know that,” He says. He presses the keys into Allison’s hand, and she looks down at them, bewildered as Eudora presses Jenkins’ file into her other. “Vanya needs you, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

She nods, and slips into the shadows between the street lamps.

“I _told_ you it was a bad idea,” Eudora says. The siren flicks on for real as the car pulls up to them.

“Yeah, I know,” He sighs.


	6. The Divine Absence (This Is Water)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Reginald rears his ugly head. Klaus digs up some skeletons. Allison has a realization. Dave learns how cryptic a child can get.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you should go back to sleep, Klaus,” Ben says. Pre-dawn light casts a pale blue tinge across his face, to the point that Klaus could be pretty easily convinced he isn’t manifesting him fully. Or, could be if they hadn’t been at this for a few hours already.

“I’m fine,” Klaus says. “You wanted to work on staying physical, right? Don’t go practicing proctology on bequeathed equines.”

“You look exhausted,” Ben says. “This can’t be good for you. And Diego said he might need you on deck, so should you really be wearing yourself out like this?”

“I said I’m _fine_ ,” Klaus snaps. Truth be told, he’s so far beyond exhausted that he’s wrapped around to near-mania, and his skin crawls if he stays still too long. His choices had either been to keep tossing and turning, annoying the shit out of Dave, or do something constructive with his time. He prefers being useful, or at least play-acting at it. “Try it again.”

Ben sighs, but does as he’s told, summoning The Horror from their dimension for the millionth time that morning. Klaus listens to the rumbling carefully, feels the way the connection between him and Ben strains with the extra pull on his powers, and severs it just as a tentacle starts to emerge from Ben’s stomach.

“Okay, you’ve proved you can get it,” Ben says. “Can you please go inside now? If you don’t pass out, you’re gonna freeze out here.”

“One more time,” Klaus insists, pulling Ben forward once more. Ben glares at him, arms crossed. “One more! I promise, _then_ I’ll go inside.”

“Fine,” Ben says, and repeats the summoning. Klaus listens, feels, yawns uncontrollably- “ _Shit_.”

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” The little girl says.

“I thought we passed that point a few decades ago,” He says, not bothering to get off his back on the dirt road.

“For you, or for me?”

“Take your pick,”

She sighs in exasperation and nudges him with the tire of her bike.

“Get up, he’s waiting for you,” She says.

“Who?”

“I held him off as long as I could- you’re _welcome_ , by the way- but he’s getting annoying about it,” She nudges him again, so he sits up and brushes the dirt off his arms and back, and thinks very hard about getting to his feet. She rams the tire into his leg. “Go on!”

“Who were you holding off?” He asks. “ _Why_ would you hold him off? I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t like him more,” She says.

“But you let him stay?” He counters.

“I didn’t have a _choice_ ,” She says. “Now go, before I decide to teach you a lesson about wasting my time.”

She points through the thicket of trees lining the road, and begrudgingly, he heads through it. He wonders if everyone else has to deal with getting scratched by underbrush in heaven, or if he’s just lucky like that. He really, really hopes that ephemeral poison oak isn’t an issue for the undead.

He finds a run-down shack on the other side of the trees, under a rusting water tower, but the weird part is that when he steps inside he finds a _barbershop_. With pictures of his family on the wall. Numbers One through Six, with Five oddly as his grown-self and Six as his ghostly adult-self, an empty frame where Vanya should be, and…

“What in God’s name took you so long?” Dad demands. Klaus doesn’t turn to face him. “I expected my son who can conjure the dead to have brought me forth days ago.”

“I’ve been busy,” Klaus says, scrutinizing Ben’s portrait. There’s a thin scar running through one of his eyebrows- the result of an infected piercing done while the three of them were celebrating Five’s twenty-first. Klaus doesn’t remember who’d been responsible for that bright idea, but Ben had used it as ammunition against the both of them indiscriminately. “Hey, how’d you get this picture, huh? This version of Ben got ripped to shreds _years_ ago. Slash, like, five centuries ago.”

“The afterlife works on slightly different terms than the living world, as you are well aware,” Dad says. “Don’t change the subject, we have important things to discuss.”

“Yeah?” Klaus asks wearily. “Like what?”

“The end of the world, for a start,” Dad says. Klaus finally turns, slowly, an eyebrow raised. “Have your siblings assembled as I had hoped?”

“Hoped?” Klaus’ eyebrow raises a few more millimeters.

“The fate of the world depends on the Umbrella Academy working as a team once more,” Dad says. “I knew that, to bring you all together, I would have to do something… momentous. Scattered to the corners of the globe as you were.”

“Oh, don’t forget your precious Number One, trapped on the Moon,” Klaus says. “You know, he found all the letters? He knows you sent him up there for nothing.”

“That _was_ foolish of me,” Dad says, a surprising amount of remorse coloring his tone. “I should have burned them all.”

“Of _course_ that’s your takeaway,” Klaus scoffs. “Hold on, hold on- ‘something momentous’? You don’t mean-?”

Dad nods. Once. Simple, clean, like he’s agreeing that the weather outside is nice, instead of to the fact that he _killed himself_.

“You could never do things the easy way, could you?” Klaus moans. “You ever hear of a phone?”

“If I had called, would you have answered?” Dad asks. “Would you or Number Five have known the precise date to return?”

“You planned for Five to come back from the future?” Klaus asks. “Wait, did you know I’m immortal?”

“Number Five was always going to find his way home eventually,” Dad says. “You, on the other hand- no, you were a surprise. Much as I knew you never reached your full potential while under my tutelage, I never dreamed, never suspected you to be quite so… resilient.”

“Yeah, I’m like a cockroach,” Klaus says. “Makes sense, I guess. I mean, can you _imagine_ how many times you would’ve killed me for your sadistic little experiments? And I thought I had childhood trauma _now_.”

“You children like to blame everything on me,” Dad shakes his head. “I just wanted you to live up to your potential. You especially, Number Four. You were always my greatest disappointment.”

“We were just _kids_ ,” Klaus says. “ _Little_ kids! You locked me in a mausoleum every week until I was sixteen!”

“You were never ‘just kids’,” Dad says. “Everything I did, everything I put you through, it was all to prepare you- all of you- for something much bigger than yourselves, you never understood that. You were meant to save the world.”

“Yeah, well,” Klaus mutters. “Look how well that turned out the first time.”

“It had to, for you to save it this time,” Dad says. Klaus rolls his eyes.

“How do you even know about that, anyway?” Klaus asks. “Forget the whole ‘other timeline’ thing, how do you know about the Apocalypse, period?”

“I have my sources,” Dad says. “Does it really matter?”

“Okay, do your ‘sources’,” Klaus uses heavy scare quotes. “Tell you _how_ it ends?”

“I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete as of yet,” Dad says.

“Ha- _ha_!” Klaus says triumphantly. “Well, lucky thing we’ve got a leg up. Allison and Diego are on it, Apocalypse should be averted by the end of the day. So _there_.”

“Hm, yes, that Jenkins boy,” Dad says. “I wouldn’t be so certain of his importance, if I were you. There are many roads leading to the end, and not all of them flow from him.”

“Could you _be_ more cryptic?” Klaus grumbles. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s your theory, old man?”

“Listen to me carefully, Number Four,” Dad says. “There are things I have kept from you, kept from all of you about Number Seven. Tell Pogo-“

He vanishes, and pieces of the living world start to filter back in to Klaus’ consciousness.

“Come _on_!” He shouts.

His eyes open to the first rays of dawn, Ben leaning over him and gently slapping his face.

“You were out a while. Again,” Ben says. Klaus doesn’t respond. “You okay?”

“I should’ve asked him why he wouldn’t talk to me after the Apocalypse,” Klaus says. “ _God_ , he’s such a prick. Literally _any_ of that would’ve been useful!”

“Klaus?”

“And _her_! Oh, she has _so_ much to answer for with Dave-“

“Klaus, you’re freaking me out,”

“C’mon, I’ll make breakfast,” Klaus says. “You like waffles, right? ‘Course you do, _everyone_ likes waffles.”

Klaus rings the bell Mom had used throughout their childhood to summon them to meals wildly, the shrill tones echoing off the walls of the hallway in an absolute din until Five warps next to him, steals the bell, and hits him over the head with it.

“ _What_ is your problem?” He snaps. “Some of us are trying to recover from severe injury.”

“Oh, like you haven’t been up for hours already,” Klaus says. Dave and Luther stumble into the hall, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and clutching their heads in eerie unison. “Good morning, sleepyheads! I trust nobody has a hangover?”

“Eat me,” Luther yawns.

“Who do I gotta kill for an aspirin?” Dave asks.

“First of all: Luther, we do not condone cannibalism in this house,” Klaus says, pointing accusingly at his brother. “Secondly: there is aspirin and answers down in the kitchen, where I have slaved over a hot stove for hours preparing a feast.”

“You put eggos in a toaster and had Mom help you make scrambled eggs,” Ben says.

“I also made coffee,” Klaus shoots back. Five perks up considerably. “If you all would be _so_ kind as to follow me, I have important news to share.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Luther says, vanishing back into his room.

Five blinks away, leaving Klaus alone in the hall with Dave, who’s still massaging his forehead gingerly.

“I don’t suppose the future has a magic hangover cure, does it?” Dave asks.

“If it did, I think getting sober would’ve been a lot harder to talk myself into,” Klaus says. “But breakfast and painkillers doesn’t hurt.”

“I suppose not,” Dave smiles weakly, and they walk down to the kitchen together. “You sleep at all last night?”

“Oh, plenty,” Klaus lies.

“Babe,” Dave says knowingly.

“Alright, I got two hours,” Klaus admits. “Sorry if I woke you with all my thrashing.”

“Nah, it’s comforting,” Dave says, knocking their hands together. “Never would’ve thought I’d grow to appreciate sleeping next to a pile of snakes in a trenchcoat cleverly disguised as a man, but I’m easily surprised.”

“Snakes, huh?” Klaus grins. “I would’ve gone with a horde of rats, personally.”

Dave shakes his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as they round the corner into the kitchen, finding Five pouring himself a cup of coffee out of the french-press, still in his Academy-issue pajamas. Mom hums quietly to herself, pulling the eggs out of the low oven she had been keeping them warm in and divvying them out onto plates. Dave glances between her and Klaus uncertainly.

“Oh! Mom, hey, did I introduce you to Dave?” Klaus says. Mom looks up with a warm smile.

“Klaus, you didn’t tell me you had a friend over,” She says. “Hello, Dave, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Dave says, with an awkward little wave.

“He’s my boyfriend!” Klaus says delightedly. He still thinks the word doesn’t quite encapsulate how he feels about Dave, but on the other hand it’s just nice to finally claim him like this. Dave reddens slightly, a pleased look on his face.

“Who do I have to kill to get a decent cup of coffee around here?” Five gripes, staring at the contents of his mug disdainfully.

“Hey, _I_ made that,” Klaus pouts.

“Good, so you’ll have the chance to learn once I’m done,” Five says. He keeps drinking it anyway.

It doesn’t take long for Luther to join them, and when he does, Klaus runs around handing out plates- Mom long since having returned upstairs to go about her daily routine. When he’s done, he clears his throat.

“Well, since this is the closest to a _quorum_ we’re going to get,” He says, rapping the spatula on the table. Dave and Luther glare at him. “Now, listening up? There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ben says.

“Yeah,” Klaus sighs. Ben’s right- Luther’s still too tetchy on the subject of Dad to take this well (not that Klaus blames him), and it’s likely that he’s just overreacting about Dad bringing up Vanya, right? Has to be. She’s _ordinary_ ; Dad probably just meant… He could’ve…

Klaus has no goddamned idea what the old man could’ve been trying to tell him. That’s why he’d decided to tell everyone (for a given value of everyone, with Diego and Allison still gone) in the first place.

“Klaus,” Luther prompts impatiently.

“I talked to Dad, last night,” Klaus says.

“What, like, you conjured him?” Luther asks. “I thought you said you couldn’t do that anymore.”

“2019-Klaus, maybe, but _I’m_ different,” Klaus says.

“Not doing hard drugs,” Five translates. Klaus shrugs, flapping the spatula around like a flyswatter.

“Anyway, no, I didn’t _conjure_ him,” Klaus says. “Died this morning, and he decided to pull me away for a little chat.”

“You died again?” Dave asks, a bit panicked.

“Ben and I were practicing and I got a bit distracted,” Klaus uses the flyswatter-spatula to push the concern away.

“Has anyone got some aspirin?” Luther asks, pushing away from the table.

“Top shelf, next to the crackers,” Five says.

“Hey! I’m trying to relay serious news here, people!” Klaus raps the spatula on the table again, prompting Luther to take it from him and swaps it for the aspirin, well out of Klaus’ reach without a ladder (boring) or levitation (sexy). “Jeez, touchy.”

“Alright, what’d the old man have to say?” Five asks, only a touch condescending, which is really more than Klaus can ask for out of him this early in the morning.

“Well, usual blah blah about how I was a massive disappointment and Daddy did nothing wrong, ever,” Klaus says. “No surprise there, right? Even the afterlife couldn’t soften a hard-ass like Dad. But he did mention something about his murder, or lack thereof. Because…”

“Wait for it,” Ben says.

“He… killed himself,” Klaus says.

Five does something approximating the facial equivalent of a shrug, and goes in for more coffee. Luther just stares dully at him.

“I don’t have time for your games, Klaus,” He says.

“I’m telling the truth!” Klaus protests. “Look, he said it was the only way to get us back home again.”

“No, Dad wouldn’t just kill himself,” Luther shakes his head. “Suicidal people, they exhibit certain tendencies, strange behaviors.”

“Like sending people to the Moon for no reason?” Klaus asks. Luther’s face darkens instantly, and he wonders if he crossed the line.

“I swear to god, if you’re lying-” He growls.

“I’m not!”

“Master Klaus is correct,” Pogo says, making an all-too serendipitously-timed entrance. How long had the ape been eavesdropping? How many ‘secret’ conversations throughout their childhood had been overheard? Klaus thinks of a few he really, really hopes aren’t included in that number. “Regretfully, I helped Master Hargreeves enact his plan.”

“What?” Luther blinks.

“As did Grace,” Pogo continues. “It was a difficult choice for both of us, more difficult than you could ever know.”

‘Grace?’ Dave mouths at Klaus.

‘Mom,’ He mouths back, and Dave nods.

Pogo’s cane taps are the only sound to be heard as he makes his way to the table, taking a seat strangely far from Luther’s, considering Klaus is pretty sure he remembers Pogo being closest with him out of all of them- even closer than with Vanya, whom he’d always had a hell of a soft spot for. He sighs heavily before speaking again.

“Prior to your father’s death, Grace’s programming was adjusted so that she was incapable of performing first aid on that fateful night,” He says.

“Sick bastard,” Klaus murmurs. Killing himself was one thing- and honestly, Klaus would put it in the top ten altruistic things Dad ever did- but dragging Pogo into it? Dragging _Mom_ into it?

“So that security tape we saw?” Luther asks.

“What security tape?” Klaus asks.

“Meant to further the murder mystery,” Pogo says, shooting Klaus an apologetic glance for not explaining further. Klaus rolls his eyes, unused to but sick of being left out of the loop when it comes to this family. “Your father hoped that being back here, solving it together would reignite your desire to be a team again.”

“To what end?” Luther demands.

“To save the world, of course,” Pogo says. Klaus pours him a cup of coffee and hands it to him, and he nods in thanks.

“Yeah, how’d he know about that, by the way?” Klaus asks. “He just said he ‘had sources’, as if that answers _anything_.”

“I apologize, Master Klaus,” Pogo says. “There were some things he really, truly kept only to himself. I asked, of course, but received much the same answer as you did.”

“So how’s it end?” Five leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and folding his hands together, a gesture that makes him look almost his age, even in this Benjamin Button-ed body. “What’s the cause?”

“If he knew, he never told me,” Pogo says. Five turns expectantly to Klaus.

“He just said he had suspicions,” Klaus says. “And not to put all our eggs in the Harold Jenkins basket.”

“It’s our only lead,” Five counters. “How’s that going, by the way? Where are Allison and Diego? Or Diego’s friend?”

“They left to track down Jenkins at his grandma’s cabin last night,” Klaus says.

“What? You let them go by themselves?” Five asks.

“Luther was feeling shitty!” Klaus protests. The man in question glares at him. “Dave was trying to cheer him up, and I thought ‘to hell with it, Five’s down for the count so we’re not going anywhere tonight’, so I _very_ generously offered to help them clean up the mess they made of Dad’s bar.”

“Unbelievable,” Five scoffs. “Actually, it’s entirely believable, which may be worse.”

“Whatever, those in glass houses et cetera. _And_ he’s just a _guy_ ,” Klaus says. “How many _normal_ people kill guys every day, huh? And Allison and Diego have powers.”

“He’s not just ‘some guy’, Klaus,” Five says. “He brings about the Apocalypse!”

“Or his actions in the next few days do,” Klaus says. “Dad said not to put all our eggs in that basket!”

“And you’re listening to Dad all of a sudden?”

“I am when he knows something about the Apocalypse!” Klaus shouts. Five leans back, jaw clenching in anger. “He said something else, too.”

“What?” Five snaps.

“He was going to tell me something about Vanya,” Klaus says. “He got cut off before he could tell me, but he said to ask Pogo.”

Pogo shrinks under the gazes turned on him, looking like he’s regretting deciding to jump in on Klaus’ behalf.

“He was probably just going to tell you to keep her out of things,” Luther says dismissively.

“Or to protect her,” Five says.

“Then again,” Luther sighs, finally taking his aspirin and handing the bottle over to Dave, who takes it thankfully. “When did the old bastard ever _actually_ care about any of us?”

“He got me killed,” Ben says helpfully. Klaus gestures to him in agreement before remembering he was the only one that heard the comment.

“Pogo, he said there was something about Vanya that he hid from us,” Klaus says. “What was he talking about?”

Pogo sighs, somehow sounding even more world-weary than he had when he sighed a few minutes ago.

“Perhaps it would be easiest if I showed you the old surveillance tapes,” He says.

Walking out the front door, Klaus nearly walks straight into Diego.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Allison?” Klaus asks, standing on tip-toe to peer around his brother, but the only other person he finds is Patch, looking exhausted and beyond stressed. “You guys kill Jenkins yet?”

“Not so loud,” Diego hisses, pushing him back inside. He glances at the group assembled in the foyer before continuing. “No, Patch and I got arrested for a little suspected GTA last night. Couldn’t get us to confess, and the only evidence they had was circumstantial so they let us go.”

“We would’ve been toast if it weren’t for Beeman,” Patch says. “We owe him a fruit basket, or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Diego says. “Allison’s not back yet?”

“No,” Luther says. “We were just heading to-“

“We’ll meet you at the cabin,” Diego says, turning back around and stuffing a hand in the pocket of his coat. He stops mid-step, rifling through the rest of his pockets. “Ah, shit.”

“You loaned your car to her,” Patch says.

“And now she’s alone and in danger,” Diego groans. “ _Shit_.”

“Hold on, you knew about Vanya?” Luther asks.

“What _about_ Vanya?” Diego rounds on him. “Yeah, she’s in danger too if she’s with that creep, so let’s get moving.”

“He’s referring to the fact that Vanya has powers,” Five says plainly. Diego stares at him, mouth hanging slightly open.

“What?” He croaks.

“Sound wave manipulation, from the looks of it,” Five continues. “You can go over the tapes yourself when we get back. Now, will we all fit in Dad’s car?”

Klaus does a quick headcount.

“It’ll be a bit cramped, and Ben’ll have to be careful about people’s elbows phasing through him if he decides to be picky about that sort of thing,” Klaus says. “But we’ll fit.”

“Good,” Five says. He snatches the keys from Luther’s unresisting grasp. “I’m driving.”

It’s a long, boring drive to Jenkins’ grandma’s cabin, and by the time they’re pulling up the driveway that night, Klaus is wondering if the Apocalypse is really such a bad thing if it means radio DJs get fried.

“I’m just saying,” He says, slamming the car door behind him. “If they wanted to be wrong about music, they should’ve done it somewhere no one else would be subjected to their shitty takes.”

“I thought the song was good,” Dave says sheepishly.

“Baby, I love you, but you think ‘The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance’ is the best song ever written,” Klaus says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Five says. A second car pulls in the driveway behind them, and out steps a bewildered Allison.

“How’d you guys get here before me?” She asks. “Is Vanya okay?”

“Something happen?” Patch asks.

“There was a fight at a restaurant she was at last night,” Allison says slowly. “Jenkins got injured.”

“You think she turned on him?” Diego asks, turning to the group.

“Three guys died from getting thrown into the air,” Allison scoffs. “I don’t know if you’ve seen our sister, but she’s _tiny_.”

“Yeah, turns out Dad forgot to mention one tiny little detail about our tiny sister,” Klaus says. “She’s got powers, Alli. Crazy strong ones, too.”

“What? No, that’s-“ Allison’s eyes widen suddenly, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Dave asks.

“When we were kids, Dad told us she was really sick,” She says carefully. “You guys remember, right?”

“She got quarantined,” Luther says, frowning in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He took me to see her,” Allison says, her voice warbling. “And I didn’t know to question it, y’know? I mean, we were _four_! And he- he told me to tell her something.”

“You, what, rumored her into forgetting her powers?” Diego asks, incredulous. He laughs dangerously, shaking his head. “Gotta say, sis, you’ve done some pretty shady shit in the past, but this takes the cake.”

“We were _four_ ,” Allison repeats desperately. “I didn’t understand! All I knew was that the next day my sister was healthy again and we could have tea parties!”

“Jesus,” Klaus mutters, closing his eyes for a second. “Every time I think he’s reached the lowest a person can get, he grabs a shovel.”

“I have to apologize,” Allison says, taking a step towards the cabin. Klaus and Diego move to block her path. “Get out of my way!”

“Yeah, you need to apologize,” Diego says. “But right now we need to get her away from Jenkins, and fast.”

“You think she’ll want to get in a car with any of us if she finds out?” Klaus asks. “I mean, I’m not above a little blunt trauma to ease things along, but I hear that causes brain damage or death in most people.”

“She’d fling you into next week, dude,” Diego says.

“They’re right, we have to focus on getting Jenkins out of the picture,” Five says. Allison glares at him over Diego’s shoulder, and Klaus could swear he sees the moment when she decides to rumor them out of her way.

“Please, Allison,” Luther says. She stops, mouth not even open yet. “You can apologize as much as you want once the world is safe.”

“Fine,” She spits after a long, tense moment. “What’s the plan?”

“We should keep the cars running,” Dave says. “Does anyone know if Jenkins is home?”

“No other cars in the driveway,” Five says.

“Yeah, keeping the cars running,” Luther coughs, eyeing Dave warily. Oh god, is he going to be weird about being ‘The Leader’ again? They _so_ don’t have time for this crap. “We should send a team in to get her, and another should wait for Jenkins.”

“We should get our cars out of sight,” Diego says. “Let him think nothing’s up.”

“Klaus or I should go after Jenkins,” Five says. “We were the best at what we did for a reason. It’ll be clean, in and out, minimal evidence.”

“I’ll take my car, thank you,” Diego says, holding out his hand. Allison hands the keys over, rolling her eyes.

“Five’s the best getaway driver I’ve ever seen,” Klaus volunteers. “I can take Luther and Dave, sneak around back and wait for Jenkins to get back.”

“Fine, fine,” Five says. “That leaves Allison and our wonderful detective friend here to collect Vanya. Do you think you can hold your tongue long enough, Three?”

“Yeah,” Allison says testily. “I think I can manage to shut up for a few minutes.”

“Maybe… maybe don’t say anything on the way back, either,” Luther says, cringing under her glare. “It’s just, it seems like her powers are tied to her emotional state.”

“She’s been plenty pissed at us before and it never threw us in the air,” Allison says.

“Dad was drugging her,” Klaus says. “I _told_ you guys those weren’t Xanax, but did you believe me? No! Damn good thing those bastards work so fast, or I’d have taken more and it would’ve been ‘bye-bye, Klaus’.”

“Fine! I’ll just wait to apologize for ruining my sister’s life,” Allison says. “Happy?”

“Close enough,” Five says.

Ten minutes later, a confused but compliant Vanya is sitting shotgun with Five, Allison’s vibrating nervously in the back, Patch is arguing with Diego over his music, and Klaus, Luther, and Dave are breaking into Jenkins’ cabin. It doesn’t take much effort, as most rural places usually don’t. What’s the point of locking your windows or doors when your nearest neighbor is three miles down the road?

Klaus waits by the back door, listening carefully. He adjusts his grip on the handgun, nervously checking and reloading the magazine. He glances back at Dave, holding one of Dad’s hunting rifles; at Luther, who had refused a gun despite knowing what they came here to do.

“You ready?” He asks them. They nod.

It doesn’t take long for them to hear Jenkins’ car pull up and the front door open. He starts calling for Vanya, walking towards the back, and Klaus slips further into the cabin. He drifts about a centimeter off the floor to avoid creaking floorboards- an epidemic ravaging old buildings everywhere, to the detriment of would-be assassins- and carefully moves from room to room, gun held in front of him.

Something hits him, _hard_ , and he tumbles to the ground, gun skittering across the floor. A pale hand reaches down and scoops it up.

“Nice piece,” Jenkins says. “I prefer something a little less loud, myself.”

“Hammers are whisper-quiet, are they?” Klaus bites back, pushing himself to hands and knees. He looks up at Jenkins, and freezes. “Pirate!”

“I’m not sure name-calling is in your best interest right now, Klaus,” Jenkins smirks. It looks painful, pulling against the bruises and scrapes, let alone what it must be doing to the wounded (empty) socket. “What, not shocked I know who you are?”

“Well, you did visit our house yesterday,” Klaus says. Dammit, where are Dave and Luther? They should’ve followed already. “And the creepy murder-shrine in your attic was pretty revealing, I hear.”

“Broke into my house, did you?” Jenkins nods. “I knew Allison wasn’t that fond of me, but breaking and entering, really?”

“If it helps, we figured out you were a total creep independent of her,” Klaus says. “What’d we ever do to you, huh? We were just… weird kids under the thumb of an egomaniacal bastard who wanted to play superheroes, but decided action figures were too _passé_.”

“I could’ve been like you, you know,” Jenkins says, inspecting the gun with a little too much familiarity for Klaus’ taste. If he shoots Klaus, the silver lining is it’ll tip off Dave and Luther. He’d rather not die again today, though. Where _are_ they? “I was born on the same day. But unlike you, I wasn’t a freak. Didn’t stop a kid from dreaming, though. I _begged_ Hargreeves to take me in, take me away from my father, and you know what he did?”

“Gave you a pony?” Klaus asks.

“He _laughed_ at me,” Jenkins sneers. “They all _laughed_. Said I wasn’t good enough for his little circus.”

“Hey, count yourself lucky, pal,” Klaus says, standing slowly. Jenkins levels the gun at him, and he raises his hands. Maybe he could get the gun away from him with his powers, yeah? Jenkins won’t know about those, and again, worst-case-scenario, Klaus winds up bleeding on the floor. Not ideal perhaps, but things could be a lot worse. “I mean, I’ve been to prison, I know it’s not exactly lollipops and rainbows, but I’d still take high school in Juvie over _that_ crap-fest.”

“You just don’t get it,” Jenkins shakes his head. “Too bad for you that you won’t get the chance to figure it out.”

A floorboard creaks somewhere to the rear and left of Klaus, and cold dread washes over him. Jenkins smirks and aims the gun.

Dave thinks things are an awful lot more grey than he remembers, not to mention a lot more outside. He sits up slowly, rubbing his forehead in a vain attempt to soothe the ache building somewhere behind it.

“I expect you have questions,” A high, young voice says. He looks around to find that it belongs to a young girl with dark skin and long, dark hair, sat on a grey-gingham picnic blanket and working on a daisy crown with the same level of attention one might expect from a watchmaker.

“Yeah,” He says, letting his hand drop. “A few.”

“Well?” She asks.

“Why?” He asks. “Not to be ungrateful, I just… don’t understand. About either of us.”

“ _Him_ I don’t care for,” She says, carefully weaving one stem around another. “And besides, he has work I need him to complete.”

“And me?”

She finally looks up, an irritated sort of expression on her face as her gaze flicks dismissively over him.

“You could change things,” She says.

“Like what?” He asks. “I’m just- I mean, without this-“ He gestures around them. “I’m nobody.”

“Everything,” She says. “You’ve already altered the timeline dramatically; I just don’t know if you’re done yet.”

She goes back to her crown.

He’s back in the cabin.

“-need to leave,” Luther says. “That cop Allison was shadowing could arrive any minute.”

“What’d I miss?” Dave croaks, rolling over and pushing himself upright. He sways unsteadily, and Luther dives to catch him before he tips over. “Thanks.”

“Oh, thank _god_ ,” Klaus says, descending upon him and pressing his hands to Dave’s face, his neck, his chest; pressing kisses all over his head. “You were down so _long_ \- I thought-“

“I’m fine,” Dave assures him, ducking away from the barrage of affection. He doesn’t _want_ to, but he’s still unsure about the whole displays of affection in front of other people thing, no matter how casually everyone seems to take it, or how many times Klaus reminds him that it’s more or less safe.

“Good,” Klaus says, nodding a little. He looks away. “Good.”

“Can we get out of here now?” Luther asks. Klaus nods again, and Luther leads them out of the cabin, still helping Dave support his weight. He’s thankful for it, unsure if he could manage to take a single step without face-planting.

Five’s waiting in the driveway for them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his shorts and looking incredibly bored, considering the family just discovered their sister has powers, killed her boyfriend for future-causing the Apocalypse, and saved the world.

“Hey, getaway driver, what’re you doing out of the car?” Klaus asks as they draw level with him.

“Is it done?” Five asks.

“Jenkins makes one sore ghost,” Klaus says. Five nods sharply.

“I’ve only got one seat in my car,” Five says.

“What? You’ve got three, easy,” Klaus says.

“I’m not crowding us all in again,” Five says. “And I’m sick of you two lovebirds making moon-eyes at each other.”

“We’re _adorable_ , thank you,” Klaus huffs.

“You’re covered in blood,” Five says.

“I’ll go with Five,” Dave says, glancing at Luther, who hasn’t stopped staring at Klaus for a second, looking like he’s half a second from launching into a tirade.

“What? No! Luther can go with him,” Klaus says.

“Split them up, I don’t condone hanky-panky in my backseat!” Diego calls from his car.

“We didn’t even _hold hands_ on the way up,” Klaus says.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Five says. “Come on, Dave. We can get to know each other.”

Uncertainly, Dave breaks from Luther’s support, thankfully finding that he _can_ at least make it the rest of the way down the driveway.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Vanya gasps, staring open-mouthed at Dave as he slides into the backseat with Allison. “What the hell happened? I heard gunshots, and- and screaming- is- is Leonard-?”

“We’ll explain everything once we’re home,” Five says, zipping down the gravel road before Dave can even reach for his seatbelt. “Just… trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” Vanya says slowly. She looks back at Dave again. “That’s a lot of blood, though.”

“Klaus get shot again?” Five asks.

“ _Again_?” Vanya squeaks, and the trees lining the road begin to sway in a sudden gale.

“He’s okay,” Allison assures her. “He… doesn’t stay dead, I guess. It’s all _really_ weird, and kinda hard to wrap your head around, to be honest.”

“Oh, no, I- I knew that. I guess it slipped my mind,” Vanya says, shooting an oddly guilty glance at Five. The storm calms. “Did he- was he the one who got shot?”

Dave looks down at his shirt and plucks disgustedly at it, grimacing when the blood makes it stick to his chest. He’s already had to write one shirt off thanks to a fatal chest wound, but he’d sort of liked this one. He wonders if Klaus will be annoyed he ruined it, considering Dave did steal it from him. Under the gore it proudly proclaims him as ‘County Corn Dog Eating Champ, 2006’. Klaus had spun a pretty good yarn about winning it.

“No, I was,” Dave says. The wind returns, more forceful than before. “I got better, it’s okay.”

“What do you mean, you _got better_?” Allison asks.

“Oh, I don’t stay dead either,”

“Well, that’s one question answered,” Five says. The two women settle heavily back into their seats in an eerily identical motion, silent and stunned. Vanya’s the first to recover.

“That- that’s good, I guess,” She says.

“Beats bein’ a corpse,” He agrees, and Allison snorts.


	7. Call the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther continues to have an annoyingly developed sense of morality. Diego gets an answer, sort of. Vanya gets more answers than she really wanted. Hazel doesn’t get his margarita. News breaks, and no-one’s got enough glue to put it back together. Vanya is the bomb.

“What the hell is wrong with you? That was _way_ out of line,” Luther says.

“Oh, I’m sorry I wanted a little payback for putting Five and I through _forty years of hell_!” Klaus snaps. “I had to _raise_ a goddamn _teenager_ , practically by myself, _while_ getting sober, _while_ coming to terms with the fact I had no off-ramp! And Five had to… to deal with all that shit too! With only Ben and I for company!”

“The poor bastard,” Ben says, picking at his nails as if there’s some ephemeral dirt stuck underneath them.

“That’s no reason to torture him!” Luther says.

“Grow up, Luther,” Klaus rolls his eyes. “I could’ve done worse.”

“That doesn’t make it better. You _get_ that doesn’t make it better, right?” Luther scoffs. “And don’t pretend you did it for anyone but yourself- that was entirely about your boyfriend, and you know it.”

“Yeah, fine, some of it was,” Klaus says. “Happy?”

“You _knew_ he was going to come back, Klaus,” Luther says.

Klaus just shakes his head, glaring out the window. He’s not going to pretend what he did was morally perfect or anything, but he thinks it had been fair. Just, even. Harold only got what he deserved (far less, if you ask Klaus; he’s willing to bet Five will say the same) and Klaus’ motivations don’t change that one bit.

“What happened back there?” Diego cuts in. “Just… explain from the beginning.”

“Jenkins got the drop on Klaus, Dave rushed in and got shot,” Luther says. “Klaus got Jenkins back, and _tortured_ a dying man.”

“Hey man, it’s none of my business if he couldn’t handle a little roughhousing,” Klaus says, keeping his voice light.

“Those ghosts _ripped_ him apart,” Luther says. “It’ll be a miracle if they can identify his body!”

“You’ve gotta admit it was an improvement, looks-wise,”

“Could you take something seriously for once in your life?”

“Cram it, both of you,” Diego snaps, and they quiet. “Dave got shot, and then he… came back to life? So it- when it happened back in his time, that wasn’t just a one-off?”

“Seems like it,” Klaus says.

“And you’re _sure_ Jenkins is dead?” Diego asks.

“ _Yes_ , Diego,” Klaus says. “One of the more irritating haunts.”

“I’m never getting my job back, am I?” Patch sighs. Klaus gives her a sympathetic smile, though he’s not sure if she catches it in the rearview mirror or not.

“Klaus tortured a dying man!” Luther says. “Can we not just gloss over that?”

“He was a scumbag, Luther,” Diego says. “I’m willing to gloss over a lot, frankly.”

“He was still a person,” Luther protests.

“Yeah, a person who was using our sister for some twisted revenge plot,” Diego says. “And let’s not forget, was going to end the fucking _world_.”

“Dad said not to put all our hopes on that,” Luther says. “Klaus, that’s what you said this morning; are you really gonna switch sides like that?”

“I just want this to be done,” Klaus says quietly. He rubs at the slowly drying blood on his hands, unsure how much of it is Dave’s and how much of it is Harold’s, watching as it flakes onto the floor mats. If he weren’t sure Diego does a deep-clean every week (in case of incriminating evidence vis a vis his side gig), he’d say something about it.

“Wanting something doesn’t make it true,” Ben says. Klaus sticks his tongue out at him.

“Real mature, Klaus,” Luther says.

“Not everything’s about you,” Klaus says. “I’m reacting perfectly reasonably to Ben being annoying.”

“You’re such a baby,” Ben says.

Klaus goes back to looking out the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass and letting the rumble of the car lull him into a well-earned rest.

It’s well into the wee hours of the morning when Diego pulls up out front of Eudora’s apartment, Luther and Klaus sound asleep in the backseat. He still gets out of the car with her for privacy’s sake- he’d learned a long time ago that just because Klaus was dead to the world didn’t mean he wouldn’t find out all the dirty details. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he is to find out that’s thanks to Ben, who’d always loved secrets. He’d been a bit more discerning about keeping them back when he was alive though.

Diego walks her up the stairs, and they pause on the porch, keys clutched in her hands.

“Sorry for ruining your career,” He says.

“What?” She laughs, startled. “Diego Hargreeves, are you _apologizing_?”

“Don’t get used to it,” He huffs, trying (and failing) to hide a smile. God, he’d missed this, missed them being on the same side. But he knows this isn’t her style. “Seriously, I owe you for- shit, _so_ much these past few days, but I know how much being a cop means to you. Even if I don’t-“

“Shut up,” She cuts him off. “Don’t ruin it.”

He nods, jaw clenching as he looks away.

“If I do get fired,” She says, pulling his attention back from where he’d been watching Klaus shift in his sleep. “Which, let’s be real, if my coworkers are half competent, all of us are going away for twenty-five-to-life. But if I _do_ get fired, and we’re not bringing orange back into style… I don’t know, I had fun. _And_ … and I guess you were right. We served more justice the past few days than I usually do in a year.”

“Seriously?” He asks, that damn smile creeping back onto his face. His whole chest feels warm, with something tight at the center. It’s not uncomfortable, strangely.

“Don’t get a big head about it, Diego,” She says. “It was a really messed-up kind of justice, and I don’t think your brothers’ coworkers are done just yet, but we did some good.”

“Yeah,” He says. “Yeah, we did.”

She smiles, tight and restrained, but genuine and _beautiful_ in a way that makes Diego want to never stop staring, and stands slightly on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” She says as she pulls away. She still wears the perfume he got her their first Valentine’s day. The thing in his chest gets a little tighter. “Take care of those idiots, too. They need it.”

“Tell me about it,” He snorts, shaking his head to avoid looking directly at her. It’s starting to hurt.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Di,” She says, and finally unlocks the door and steps inside. Just before she closes it again, Diego manages to say what he wants to say.

“Do you think we could…” He clears his throat. “You think we’ll ever be like we were? Before, I mean.”

She looks at him appraisingly. A little uncertainly.

“I think we’ll have plenty of time to talk about that after the Apocalypse doesn’t happen,” She says. “Good night, Diego.”

“Night, Patch,” He says. She smiles again, a little less withheld, and shuts the door. He watches through the glass as she makes her way up the stairs, then stands on the porch a few more moments.

“After,” He says to himself. “We’ll talk about it after.”

Five’s the first one up the next morning. Or, so he thinks until he wanders down to the living room.

Vanya sits on one of the ornate couches, her fingers tracing something on the first page of a book. It’s far less used than his copy, and hard-cover instead of paperback, but he’d know the book anywhere.

“You’re up early,” He says. She startles, flipping the book closed, and what he already knew is confirmed with the revelation of the cover: her autobiography. “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure.”

“You have no idea,” Vanya laughs softly. She taps the title of the book. “Should’ve left out the hyphen, I guess.”

“How’s it feel?” He asks. “Having powers. I’m curious what it’s like, discovering them so long after-“

“After being a toddler?” She asks coyly. He suppresses a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Pogo used to tell me stories about how you’d jump all over the place when he tried to put you down for a nap.”

“I’m told a little of the unexpected keeps you young,” He says. To be precise, Klaus had said Five’s antics made him feel like a teenager again, meaning he felt like he was fighting for his life multiple times a week. Five’s translation is close enough, he feels. “Really though, how are you holding up?”

“I’d be a lot better if I knew what was going on,” She says. “I mean, you guys showed up out of the blue to take me home, I think I’m owed _some_ kind of explanation.”

“You are,” He says. He sighs, glancing at the clock on the mantle, just below that creepy painting of him. An unsettling reminder of his worst mistake. He resolves to burn it, later. “Can I explain over coffee? I’m buying.”

“You have your own money?” She arches an eyebrow at him.

“I’m nearly sixty, Vanya,” He says dryly. “And I never said it was mine.”

She laughs a little, shaking her head.

“Alright,” She says. “Let’s get some caffeine, you old, thieving geezer.”

It’s a nice enough morning, he supposes; the air not quite warming just yet, but promising better weather soon to come, the streets dotted with people who would much rather be spending their Sunday lazing about.

He wonders, if they knew this could be their last Sunday, would they do anything different? Harold Jenkins is dead, and he’d left the Commission in a pretty sorry state, but that means very little to an organization possessing the ability to time-travel and with an annoying level of dedication to ensuring the end of the world. Klaus had been right to listen to Dad, about Harold Jenkins not being the only piece they need off the board. Klaus had also been right when, as they dragged themselves to bed last night, he had said that it’s not exactly as if they have a way to find out whether they succeeded or not until the morning of April 2nd, so why worry about it? If Five knows his brother at all, he hasn’t stopped worrying for a picosecond.

There’s a café about halfway between the Academy and the grocery store that’s open and bustling with activity, and the rush of warm air and blast of the scent of fresh-roasted coffee is almost enough to energize Five on its own. He _loves_ coffee houses. Shame that he’d only been able to utilize them so relatively recently.

“Should we grab a table?” Vanya asks, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into her jacket pocket as she eyes the line for the till.

“If you want your explanation, we may want to go somewhere less populated,” He says, eyeing the line for perhaps different reasons. Nothing he has to say will be easy for her to stomach, and with her control on her powers being seemingly non-existent (though he would love to be proved wrong), it seems best to try to minimize collateral damage.

“Oh,” She says. “It’s that kind of explanation, huh?”

“I doubt you’re naïeve enough to think we wanted to get you away from Peabody for _nice_ reasons,” He says carefully. It still comes out a bit brusque, he knows, but he’s never been one to mince his words. Besides, tact requires caffeine, and lots of it.

They get their drinks to-go and meander through the city looking for someplace relatively secluded, eventually settling on a park bench perhaps a block from the Academy. Something about the fountain tickles the back of his brain, like it’s trying to bring up a long-buried memory. He pushes it aside to focus on the task at hand.

“Do you remember what I told you, that first night we were back?” He asks, formulating a rough outline of how to say what he needs to say as he watches a pigeon strut across the walkway. He narrows his eyes at it; it looks far too smug for his tastes.

“That Klaus can’t die, the world ends this week, and something happened with Ben?” She lists dryly. “No, why would something like that stick in my brain?”

“It’s all true,” He says. “But I left some things out of my explanation, things I thought I could protect you from.”

He looks at her, his eyebrows drawn together as his expression settles into something firm. Best to just rip the band-aid off; trying to coddle her will only make things worse.

“Klaus and I worked as assassins for an organization that tasks itself with the maintenance of the ‘proper’ timeline, which they say will result in the end of human life on Earth tomorrow night,” He says. “Are you with me so far?”

“I-I guess,” She stammers. “That’s- _Klaus_?”

“I don’t know if I should be offended you aren’t surprised I turned to contract killing,” He says, allowing a smirk to flash across his face for the briefest of moments.

“I didn’t- pity’s sake-“ She sighs. “I just meant, you guys always ragged on him for going too easy on the bad guys during missions. It’s hard to reconcile that with… you know.”

“Isolation will do strange things to your morality,” He says. “Not that we enjoyed it- far from it, in fact. But it was our ticket home, or so we thought.”

“Right, you had to calculate your own way back,” She says.

“They offered us a standard, five-year contract,” He says, sipping carefully from his paper cup. The contents scald his tongue, but he goes in for more anyway. “Theoretically, if we did what they asked, they’d let us retire in the time-period of our choosing.”

“Theoretically?”

“Let’s just say I never heard about a pension plan,” He smiles sarcastically. “By the time we figured that out, it was too late to back down. Ben was gone, and we were willing to do anything to stay away from the wasteland we’d called home, even if we _had_ a way back. So I kept working on my calculations, and four years in, I thought I had it. Turns out I got a few variables wrong, as everyone keeps helpfully pointing out.”

He gestures at himself with disgust, then shoves his floppy hair out of his eyes.

“Our plan to save the world hinged on an object I found while searching the ruins of the city,” He keeps it vague, thinking there’s no point in explaining as it’ll only upset her further. There’ll be far too much of that as it is. “As it turns out, it supposedly hadn’t been manufactured yet, so I staked out the lab it originated from. Then our coworkers caught up to us, and Klaus-“

He grits his teeth, looking away again.

“He didn’t tell them, did he?” Vanya asks, horrified. Five barks out a bitter laugh.

“They tortured him for twenty-three hours,” He says. “I- I should’ve noticed he was missing, or the little _note_ ,” He spits out the word. “They left for me at the lab. It would have only been seventeen, if I’d noticed it.”

“Oh my god,” She says.

“He’s ‘fine’ now,” He assures her, though the finger-quotes might diminish the effect. “Stole their time-machine and got stranded for ten months, but, well. You met Dave. Clearly he made the most of it.”

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” She says. “But what does any of this have to do with Leonard?”

“I’m getting there,” He says. “With the lab gone, Klaus and I had to come up with another way to track down the man who ended the world. I contacted our former superior to try to strike a bargain, and wound up infiltrating headquarters long enough to gather the information and deal enough damage to bring them to their knees. For a little while, at any rate. The name I recovered was Harold Jenkins.”

“The detective- Patch?” She looks to him for confirmation, and he nods. “She said that was Leonard’s real name. Are you _seriously_ telling me my boyfriend ends the world?”

“Would have ended the world, but yes,” He says.

“What do you mean, ‘would have’?” She demands. The swings on the playground begin to sway in a sudden breeze, and the merry-go-round slowly picks up speed. “Five, what did you do to him?”

“I’m sorry, Vanya,” He says. He genuinely means it, but he also figures that means little in the face of accepting your family killed your boyfriend on what must seem to her to be incredibly flimsy evidence. Carefully, he extracts Jenkins’ file from where he’d been keeping it tucked in his blazer, as well as the folded message meant for Hazel and Cha-Cha. “You can look at the evidence with your own eyes, if you’d like.”

She stares at the folder in his hands, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Of fury, grief, or something else, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure it matters.

“How are you sure he was the right Harold Jenkins?” She asks, voice thick. He sets the folder and the message down on the bench between them and produces one last item from his pockets: the glass eye. She stares at it, dumbfounded. “He was supposed to get a prosthetic today.”

“I found this clutched in Luther’s dead hand,” He says. “Whoever he took it from, all of our siblings _died_ trying to stop them. I’ll bet anything that this was meant for Jenkins.”

He’s betting everything, if you want to get pedantic.

Gingerly, she takes the eye into her slender, still-ungloved fingers, cradling it like it might explode at any moment. Fat tears roll down her cheeks.

“Why would he end the world?” She sniffles. “He _restored antiques_.”

“I don’t know,” He says. “But I’m willing to bet it has something to do with his hate-on for the Umbrella Academy.”

“Oh, so it’s all about _you guys_ , is it?” She snaps, tossing the eye back at him quick enough that he has to scramble to keep it from falling to the pavement, possibly shattering. He may not _need_ it anymore, but he’s not ready to let go of it just yet. She laughs, bitter and cruel and with more than a little congestion. “ _Every_ time I have something good in my life, it gets taken away from me because of the Academy. Why am I even surprised? You- you probably apprehended his Dad or something, didn’t you?”

Five thinks of the monologue Klaus had relayed over a stiff nightcap at Dad’s bar.

“I think that may have been his preferred outcome, actually,” He says. She glares at him. “I’m sorry, Seven. It isn’t fair to you-“

“Don’t call me that,” She says. “My name is _Vanya_.”

“Sorry,” He says, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. “I forget, sometimes.”

They’d only had their names a few months when he’d left, and had it not been for Vanya’s book and the presence of Klaus and Ben, he sometimes wonders if he would have still remembered them, all these years later. He wonders about too much. He wonders if he made the right decision, refusing a name from Mom; it had seemed like the perfect act of rebellion at the time, proving to their father that he didn’t need to be treated like a child and proving to his siblings that he was… what, better than them? It had felt like proving _something_ , and that’s all he’s still certain of. Time and details don’t make the most gentle bedfellows.

She lets out a slow breath, and with it, the building storm in the background eases back to a standstill. She picks up the folder and the message, tucks them under her arm, and stands.

“I have a concert tomorrow night,” She says. “I made first chair; that’s what I came to the Academy to tell you guys about yesterday. I’d appreciate it if you came.”

“Of course,” He says immediately. “We’ll be there.”

“Okay,” She says, the barest hint of a smile creeping onto her face, mixing with her otherwise weepy and furious expression to make an entirely new, uninterpretable one. “I’ve got to go practice. Take care of yourself, Five. Seriously, you look like shit.”

“Well, I did get a four-inch piece of metal extracted from my torso two days ago,” He says without thinking about it. Her eyes widen for a split second before returning to their usual size.

“You know what?” She laughs. “I think you’ve broken me, old man; nothing you say can surprise me anymore.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” He says.

“I’m sure you will,” She agrees.

She presses a kiss to the crown of his head, ruffles his hair, picks her coffee up off the bench, and walks away. He resists the urge to beg her to stay. He’s not _actually_ a child, after all.

Five sets the glass down heavily on the bartop and after a moment of careful consideration, drops a paper umbrella into its frozen contents.

“Well,” He says. “Do you think we really did it? Think we actually stopped the Apocalypse?”

 _I certainly hope so_ , Delores says. _What do we do now?_

“Now what? I have no idea,” He huffs out a laugh. “I’m open to suggestion.”

“How about we stop entertaining that delusion first?” Klaus says, clapping his hands down on Five’s shoulders seemingly out of the blue. Five would be surprised, if they hadn’t spent the better part of the past four decades sneaking up on one another. He just sort of assumes Klaus is behind him if he’s not in Five’s direct line of sight; it saves on stress. “Come _on_ , buddy. I thought you outgrew this! She’s not real!”

“I _know_ she’s not real,” Five says, reaching for his margarita. “I never _didn’t_ know she isn’t real.”

“Mmkay, you see how that doesn’t make it better, right?” Klaus asks, somehow managing to make a shoulder-rub sarcastic. Five shrugs him off.

“Do you want a damn margarita or not?” He asks.

“Well, if you _insist_ ,” Klaus says, sitting on the barstool next to him and pulling the blender towards himself. He carefully shakes slush into a glass before returning the jar to the stand. “Christ, look at us, huh? An unkillable ex-junkie and a geriatric teenager, and we saved the world.”

“I don’t get why everyone keeps acting like I’m a fossil,” Five says. “Fifty-eight isn’t _that_ old. You’re older.”

“It’s the way you act,” Klaus says, sipping his drink thoughtfully. “Weren’t you complaining about people treating you like a child? I seem to remember you throwing a tantrum about that; y’know, right before I got kidnapped, or what have you.”

“I can be annoyed about two things at once; I contain multitudes,” Five says. Klaus shrugs noncommittally. “What do we even _do_ now that it’s done?”

“Drink,” Klaus says. “Pray that it _is_ done, and don’t stop white-knuckling it until April 2nd.”

“I mean big picture, jackass,” Five says.

He’s saved from Klaus’ witty remark by a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” He grumbles, taking his drink with him as he goes to check.

He yanks open the door with as much disdain as he can cram into the gesture to see Hazel standing on the doorstep, pointing a gun at him. He sighs wearily. He should’ve known his moment of leisure was too good to be true.

“Hey, old timer,” Hazel says.

“Are you here to kidnap my brother again?” Five asks, sipping his drink lazily. “And if not, would you like a margarita?”

Hazel shrugs, and Five steps aside, gesturing him in with a jerk of his head. The door closes without much fanfare behind their former coworker, and the two of them stroll into the living room, Hazel still brandishing the gun.

“You’re here to kill me?” Five asks as they approach the bar. Klaus’ back is still turned to them, and he doesn’t look around at the words.

Hazel glances down at the gun in surprise, like he hadn’t realized what he was doing.

“Oh, shit. Old habits, sorry,” He laughs, tucking the gun into the back of his waistband. Klaus’ shoulders tense at the sound of his voice. “Well, I can understand why you might feel that way.”

“Well you _did_ attack our house, try to kill our family, and kidnapped and tortured my brother,” Five snarks.

“Not much I can do about the past,” Hazel says. “And I’m not the only killer in this room, you’ve got your own bloody histories, fellas.”

Klaus slams back the rest of his drink and finally turns to face them, leaning back on the bar in a forced-casual sort of posture.

“Speaking of which, that job you guys did in Calhoun,” Hazel says. “That shit’s legendary, can’t believe I’m actually standing here speaking to you after all this-“

“Hazel,” Five interrupts. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I’m…” Hazel says. “You know-“

Klaus flicks his hand, and Hazel goes flying across the room, slamming painfully into one of the pillars surrounding the sitting area. Five winces sympathetically.

“You know, before you kill him, you might want to hear what he has to say,” He says to Klaus.

“Oh, no- I’m done killing,” Klaus says, a little too calmly. If Five squints, he’s sure he’ll see the fury spilling through the cracks in his façade. “Think of it as a little payback for what he and his partner did.”

“Fair enough,” Five says. He can’t say he isn’t tempted to resort to a little violence himself.

Hazel groans as he gets to his feet and dusts himself off, despite no debris having fallen on him.

“If it makes any difference to you at all, it was nothing personal, and I feel plain awful about it,” He says, limping back towards them. “I know ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it, but it’s what I am.”

Klaus scrutinizes the man for a long few moments, looking perhaps for a hint of dishonesty.

“Whatever,” He says, and turns back to the bar. Instead of reaching for the blender, he pulls the bottle of tequila to himself and takes a lengthy swig. Five frowns at the motion, but says nothing, instead turning back to Hazel.

“I suggest you say what you came for quickly, in case one of us changes our mind,” He says.

“I left my partner, quit the Commission, and came to volunteer,” Hazel says.

“For what?”

“To stop the Apocalypse,”

“Hm,” Five chuckles, shaking his head.

“What on Earth could possibly be so funny to you right now?” Hazel asks, irritation creeping into his voice.

“Before I answer that,” Five says. “Why do you want to help us?”

“Let’s just say,” Hazel says, shifting uncomfortably. “I have a… vested interest in a donut shop.”

“Well, I hate to break it to ya, pal, but you’re a day late and a dollar short,” Five says. “The fact that you’re here right now means, without a shadow of a doubt, that the Apocalypse is over.”

“Really?” Hazel raises his eyebrows. “How do you know?”

“I killed the mark last night,” Klaus says. He takes another pull from the bottle. “You and your partner were more or less the last unknown variable in the equation.”

“Shit,” Hazel’s eyebrows migrate further towards his hairline.

“Mhm,” Five says through his margarita, swallowing before continuing. “And if you’re out, then Hellrider ain’t riding.”

“Oh!” Hazel says. He laughs to himself and claps his hands together once. “Alright!”

He lets out another breathless laugh, running a hand over his beard.

“So, now what?” He asks.

“What, you got ears in here or something?” Klaus asks.

“It’s what we were discussing when you showed up,” Five says to Hazel’s bewildered expression. “To be quite honest, we’ve spent so long chasing this thing… I never really thought about the day after. What about you?”

“I’m done with all this madness,” Hazel says, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings. “It’s time to start over; you should do the same.”

“Easier said than done,” Five says.

“It doesn’t have to be hard,” Hazel says. “I mean, think about it like this: if you’d never time traveled, never got caught up with The Handler, what would have happened?”

Five considers this.

“I guess I would’ve grown up to be an emotionally-stunted man-child like everyone else around here,” He says. Klaus laughs, sharp and a little too loud for comfort.

“Well,” Hazel says, glancing nervously at Klaus. “There you go. Now you can grow up. Good luck to you both.”

He claps a hand on Five’s shoulder as he passes on his way to the door, then hesitates just before the archway.

“One last thought, before I go,” He says. “Now that the plan’s thoroughly off the rails, and now that there are three of us AWOL in the same week, what do you think the Commission will do?”

“Nothing good, that’s for certain,” Five says. “All we can hope is that they decide it’s too much trouble to try to ‘correct’ things, and if they don’t- well, we fight like hell.”

“Seems a bit grim, to have to always be looking over our shoulders,” Hazel says.

“Yes, well, we should’ve thought of that before we decided to screw with possibly the most powerful and dangerous people in all of time and space,” Five says with a smile that feels more like it comes out as a grimace. “Watch out for yourself, Hazel.”

“You too, old timer,” Hazel says.

Neither Five nor Klaus move until they hear the front door shut once more.

“He doesn’t have a chance, does he?” Klaus asks.

“With Cha-Cha on his trail?” Five scoffs. “He’ll be dead within the week.”

“Where are you running off to? Vanya’s concert-“

“Doesn’t start for another two hours,” Five cuts him off. He shifts the bag hanging from his shoulder uncomfortably, and something about it seems familiar. Klaus just wishes he could remember why. “I’ll be back. Try not to get yourself killed, in the meantime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Klaus waves him off. He watches the door shut behind Five before returning to the group assembled in the living room.

“Where’d you run off to?” Diego asks.

“Out for a smoke, since _someone_ ,” Klaus glares melodramatically at Luther, who returns it with an unimpressed stare. “Won’t let me do that inside. Anyway, I miss anything?”

“Vanya was just telling us about the piece they’re going to be performing,” Allison says. “It’s got a really interesting composition.”

“It’s not _that_ interesting,” Vanya says sheepishly. “I mean, I guess it’s a bit unusual, but the composer used a lot of the same motifs and arrangements in his work. I-it’s not _unique,_ or anything.”

She babbles on, describing irregular arpeggios and about a million other things that fly straight over Klaus’ head, but he nods along encouragingly no matter how lost he gets. It strikes him (somewhat uncomfortably) that he’s never seen her this excited about something before.

She’s somewhere in the midst of explaining the third movement when the phone in the hall rings, Diego excusing himself to answer it as she continues. It’s not long before he’s back, gunning for the TV and flicking desperately through the channels.

“Hey, we can catch up on _Jeopardy_ after the concert,” Klaus says, kicking vaguely and ineffectively at him.

“Patch called, said to turn on the news,” Diego says, stepping back when it lands on the right program.

 _“-missing since Thursday, her body was discovered thanks to a tip from Jackpine Cove police department’s Officer Cheddar_ , _”_ A man reports, standing in front of an unfortunately familiar house. Klaus sits bolt upright, knocking Dave’s arm off his shoulders. _“The suspect? Woodworker Leonard Peabody, who some may remember better as Harold Jenkins, whose brutal act of patricide earned him thirteen years behind bars_.”

“Oh my god,” Vanya whimpers. “Is that-?”

 _“The victim, Helen Cho, was first chair violinist for the city orchestra, which will be performing later tonight,”_ The reporter continues. _“Inquiries are being made into Peabody’s brutal apparent murder, but Jackpine Cove police are saying evidence is minimal.”_

“Turn it off,” Luther says. Nobody moves, too transfixed by the story unfolding in front of them to do anything. Luther finds the remote and shuts it off himself, and it’s like a spell is broken- all of them blinking in disorientation and turning to look at Vanya.

“He-“ She swallows, face pale and gaunt. “This is my fault.”

“You didn’t pull the trigger, Vanny,” Klaus says as gently as he can manage. “You can’t control what other people do, and you’re not responsible for Peabody’s bullshit.”

“Is that what Helen thinks?” She asks. “She’s here, isn’t she? Her ghost?”

Klaus wishes he could stop himself from glancing at the woman in question.

“Is that what she thinks?” Vanya repeats.

“She’s wrong,” Klaus says.

The entire building groans and shudders as Vanya tries to steady her breathing.

“I could’ve just- if I hadn’t _told him_ about her-“ She sobs, body shuddering in time with the walls. Allison lays a comforting hand on her back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades, but Vanya shoves her away, stumbling out of her seat and towards the hall. Klaus is on his feet and heading after her before he can think anything through, not that he’d decide otherwise- Vanya needs _help_ , and all he’s done is make things worse. This is his mess to clean up.

“Vanny!” He calls after her, skidding to a halt at the end of the corridor. Just down the stairs, out of sight from the main hallway, she sits with her back against the wall, curled in on herself and sobbing hysterically. He sits next to her, wondering if he should try to hug her, or something.

“Go _away_ ,” She says between hiccups.

“Van,” Klaus says, still desperately searching for the right words.

“ _Go_!” She shouts, shoving with both her hands.

Klaus slides along the wood floor at impossible speeds, and the thought that runs through his head before he hits it against the wall is _god dammit, not this again._

“Vanya?” Allison calls, leading the charge in their search for the missing siblings. They’d waited only a few moments before following Klaus- just long enough to hear a terrifying _thud_ somewhere deeper in the house.

“Klaus?” Dave calls, bringing up the rear and sticking his head through every door along their way, expression growing grimmer by the moment.

Allison’s blood turns to ice as- when they approach the kitchen- they find Vanya, kneeling next to Klaus’ prone form slumped against the cinderblock wall, sobbing harder than ever.

“Oh god, oh _god, Klaus_ -“ She moans. “Klaus, I’m so sorry- please, _please_ be okay-“

“Vanya?” Luther asks, stepping around Allison almost protectively. She tamps down her irritation at the gesture- Vanya wouldn’t _hurt_ them.

She looks at Klaus again, at the dark stain slowly creeping across the concrete behind him.

Wouldn’t hurt them _intentionally_.

Right?

“Vanya, what happened?” Luther asks, taking another step forward.

“I didn’t- oh, _god_ ,” Vanya says. “I didn’t _mean_ it-! I didn’t think-“

“Did you… use your powers?” Diego asks. His eyes haven’t left Klaus for a second, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I didn’t _mean_ to!” Vanya sobs. “Please wake up, Klaus- _please_ -“

“You need to get your shit locked down,” Diego snaps. “You can’t afford to lash out like that at someone else.”

Vanya sobs harder.

“Don’t be an asshole, Diego,” Allison says. “It’s not her fault she doesn’t have practice-“

“Yeah, that’s right,” Diego interrupts, voice dripping with venom incomparable to the amount in his eyes as he turns to her. “It’s _yours_.”

“That’s not-“ Allison stammers. “Dad told me-“

“What?” Vanya asks, shocked out of her misery. “Allison, what- what’s that supposed to mean? Why- _how_ would it be your fault? You didn’t know I had powers.”

“Tell her,” Diego says.

“Diego,” Luther warns.

“Tell me what?” Vanya demands.

“We were so _little_ , I didn’t know to question it,” Allison says desperately. “Vanya, I’m so sorry, I never-“

“What did you do to me?” Vanya cuts her off.

“Dad made me-“

“What did you _do_?!”

“I-“ Allison’s voice dies in her throat, leaving her only able to whisper it. “I made you think you were ordinary.”

A high-pitched tone builds in the air until they’re clamping their hands over their ears to protect themselves from it, and the tremors wracking the Academy increase a hundredfold, sending bits of plaster and brick cascading from the levels above.

Vanya screams, and they all fly backward down the hall, sprawling across the floor like discarded dolls.

“Run!” Luther shouts over the din, hauling Allison and Dave to their feet as Diego jumps to his, sprinting away from the exit. “Diego, what the hell are you doing?”

“Mom’s upstairs!” He shouts back.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Allison says. “Luther, we can’t just let him-“

“We need to get out,” Luther says. “Now!”

Reluctantly, Allison sprints after him and Dave, through the corridors and out the back door into the alley, arms raised above their heads to protect from the falling debris. They come to a halt, watching the door, until _finally_ Diego bursts out, dragging Mom behind him.

“Where’s Klaus?” Diego asks.

The building explodes outward, and Luther throws them all to the ground, shielding them best he can with his body.

They take a moment in the silence to catch their breaths, only stirring at the sound of hurried footsteps. They push to their feet, looking around to find Five stumbling through the ruins of their home, something clutched in his hand. He trips over a particularly large piece of rubble, blinking away mid-air to land on his feet a short distance away from them, breathing hard and brandishing the thing- a newspaper- at them.

“Guys, this is it,” He pants. “The Apocalypse is still on. The world ends _today_.”

“I thought you said it was over!” Luther says.

“I was wrong, okay?” Five growls. “This newspaper- I found it the day I got stuck. The headline hasn’t changed.”

“No, that doesn’t mean anything,” Luther says, shaking his head emphatically. “The time- could’ve been altered since that was written-“

“You’re not _listening_ to me!” Five says. “When I found it, I assumed this place came down with everything else. But here we are; the Moon’s still shining, the Earth is still in one piece, but not the Academy.”

“I don’t follow,” Allison says. Her brain feels like it got left behind at some point- back in the living room, maybe. Everything feels a bit muted.

“Then listen to me, you idiot!” Five snaps. “Vanya destroys the Academy _before_ the Apocalypse; I thought Harold Jenkins was the cause, but he was just the _fuse_.”

He laughs bitterly.

“Vanya’s the bomb,” He says.


	8. Here Comes The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazel needs a break. Kenny’s birthday doesn’t go as planned. Klaus’ brain gets swapped for a hearty snack, but he does his best to work around it. Vanya shorts out. Plans are made. Vanya’s apartment gets wrecked.

He’d been _so_ close to freedom, that’s what really gets him about the whole thing. If he’d just kept a closer eye on Agnes, he’d have been able to enjoy a life of vegan donuts and bird sanctuaries, the world would still be safe, and ‘Cha wouldn’t know how to find him. He would’ve had to always be looking over his shoulder for her, but it would’ve been better than this. It would’ve been a kind of future- if not the exact one he wanted, at least one that didn’t conclude with frying extra-crispy with the rest of the planet. Like he’d told Cha-Cha, he’d rather spend his last days with Agnes than a lifetime with _her_.

But there’s nothing he can do, now. The Handler has Agnes, Cha-Cha more or less won (not as much as she thinks, though), there’s maybe a few hours left, and they don’t have a briefcase. So what’s there left to do but follow orders? If he could ditch ‘Cha somehow he’d do it in a heartbeat; he’s so _sick_ of following orders.

They rifle through the ruins of the mansion in tense silence, looking for what he’s not sure. Anything that could tell them where their charge ran off to.

“Looks like zombie-boy finally bit it for good,” Cha-Cha says triumphantly. Hazel abandons his perusal of a splintered bookshelf to see for himself.

“Looks peaceful,” He says. “He could do with some rest.”

Cha-Cha makes a disgusted noise at him.

“ _Jesus_ , you’ve gone soft,” She scoffs. “Shouldn’t be surprised- he’s a filthy traitor just like you.”

“At least he was doing something he believed in,” He says, but there’s little heat to it, he’s too tired for that. He could do with some rest too.

“You _used_ to believe in this,” She says. “What the hell happened, Hazel? We were- I thought we were friends.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” He says dully. “I’d rather not have this conversation.”

She makes that disgusted noise again, throwing her hands up and turning away from him, moving on to search another spot.

He stays with Klaus.

“Apologies, old man,” He says quietly. “I guess that’s what we get for thinking it was over, huh?”

He sighs, looking over the wreckage once more. Shame, really; it had been a gorgeous old building. He’d liked the windows in the living room- lots of natural light. He would’ve liked to settle down with Agnes in a house with lots of windows, he thinks. Maybe a little garden out back. He’d had a garden, before the Commission. He can’t remember what he used to grow.

Something by his feet wheezes, and he looks down, somehow surprised to see Klaus struggling under the wooden beam pinning him to a hunk of concrete. His eyes go wide when he spots Hazel, and he goes perfectly still.

“Figures,” Hazel chuckles quietly. “Hold on, Hargreeves. I’ll get you out of there.”

He glances up, making sure Cha-Cha’s preoccupied with something before hefting the beam up enough for Klaus to wriggle out. He crouches in the rubble, staying low and out of sight. Hazel sets the beam back down as quietly as possible.

“Why-?” Klaus begins.

“Shut up and listen to me,” Hazel says, darting another nervous glance at Cha-Cha. “The Handler wants us to protect your sister- the normal one. She causes the Apocalypse.”

“Wha-“

“You’ve got two hours to put a stop to it,” Hazel continues. “I need you to tell me: do you think you can do it?”

Klaus nods, though he still looks a little confused.

“Okay,” Hazel exhales slowly. “Go. I’ll deal with _her_.”

“…Thanks, I guess,” Klaus says.

“You can thank me by making sure we both see the other side of morning,” Hazel says. “Go!”

Klaus scrambles away, eerily silent as he moves through chunks of wall and furniture. Hazel could swear he’s lit up blue.

‘Cha seems none the wiser of his little encounter, and they kick around the ruins another good quarter of an hour before she finds something.

“Girl’s got a concert tonight,” She says, holding up a glossy flier.

“Think she’ll still show after doing this?” He asks, hoping it’ll somehow convince her to dismiss it.

“Best lead we got,” She says. “Get your ass into gear; we’ve got a world to end.”

“I’m going back for him,” Dave says, readying to stand from the hard, plastic bench. Diego pulls him back down.

“You’re not going anywhere, lover-boy,” He says. “We need to stick together.”

“You want me to just _leave_ him?” Dave demands. “He’s trapped! What if- what if he suffocates? A-and it just… keeps happening?”

No one seems to be as worried about Klaus as him, and it’s driving him _insane_ \- sure, yeah, he doesn’t _stay_ dead, but that’s very, very different from not _dying_. He would’ve stayed, refused to leave without digging him out, but the cops had started pulling up and there hadn’t been time to think, let alone argue. He wishes he’d tried.

“Pogo will get him out,” Five says, sounding much more like he’s convincing himself than Dave. “He’ll be okay.”

“How do you know Pogo made it out?” Diego asks, shooting Dave a glance that tells him he’s having second thoughts about his position.

“Doctor Pogo is quite capable, Diego dear,” Grace says soothingly. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“I _don’t_ know,” Five says. “I just have to hope, don’t I?”

“Fine,” Diego mutters. “We’ve gotta deal with _this_ shit, anyway.”

“I think we all need to prepare ourselves for what it might take to take down Vanya,” Luther says.

“What?!” Allison hisses. “No! Luther-“

“We may not have a choice,” Luther says, sounding genuinely apologetic, like he knows it has to be said and that no one else will say it.

“There’s always a choice,” Diego says, the words as sharp as the knives stowed in his harness.

“Like what?” Luther counters.

“I don’t know,” Diego says. “Look, whatever we decide, we still need to find her- and _fast_.”

“She could be anywhere,” Five says.

“Maybe she went to her concert?” Allison suggests weakly.

“It’s as solid a theory as any,” Luther sighs.

Dave eyes the exit, so far across the bowling alley from where he’s sat, and wonders how far he’d be able to make it before someone stopped him. Not far enough, certainly. But the image of Klaus in his head- trapped, suffocating, alone in the dark and who knows how injured- makes it tempting.

“Excuse me,” The girl from behind the counter says, jarring him out of that dangerous train of thought. “My manager says if you guys aren’t going to bowl, you gotta leave.”

“Whose turn is it?” Diego asks wearily.

“Oh, for…” Luther grumbles, snatching a bowl off the return and tossing it at the lanes. It skips two over, and manages a perfect strike. The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, but leaves once more. “We have a responsibility-“

“To who?” Diego asks. “ _Dad_?”

“No,” Luther says. He looks a little surprised at himself for saying it. “No, not to Dad. To the world.”

“I’m with Luther on this one,” Five says. “We can’t give her the chance to fight back. Billions of lives are at stake, we’re past trying to save just one.”

“She’s your _sister_ ,” Dave protests.

“I know,” Five says, looking away, face twitching into an uncomfortable expression. “But she’s dangerous, and not in control of herself, and she killed Klaus.”

“Who is the least impacted by that out of all of us,” Diego says. “Except Dave, or whatever.”

“If she killed Klaus, she can kill any of us,” Five says evenly. “And need I remind you: she causes the _Apocalypse_ in a few hours.”

“So we just snap her out of it, right?” Dave says, looking around for support. Allison and Diego nod vigorously, and even Grace inclines her head slightly. Luther and Five seem to remain unconvinced.

“How do we even go about that?” Luther asks. “Don’t get me wrong- I don’t- like you said, she’s our sister.”

“Yeah, so you idiots need to pull your heads out of your asses and figure it out!” Dave snaps. “Fuck, it’s like- like playing the harp to a cow, with you people.”

“We’re not _that_ dense,” Luther protests.

“Yeah? Prove it,” Dave says. Luther’s mouth flaps open and shut a few times, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to think of a rebuttal.

Allison claps her hands to her thighs, catching their attention.

“Well! While you guys hem and haw your way into making the right choice, I’m gonna grab a beer from concessions,” She says. “Anyone else interested? Dave?”

“Hell, why not,” He sighs. Diego watches him leave suspiciously, but doesn’t stop him this time, which Dave considers a marked improvement. He follows Allison to the counter, eyes still drifting towards the door.

“I think you’re right, by the way,” She says while they wait for their drinks, leaning against the sticky countertop. “About Klaus. If we’d had the time- I can’t even imagine what he’s…”

She sighs heavily, turning her attention to her nails, which she picks at disinterestedly.

“Yeah,” Dave says, his voice feeling thick and constrained in his throat. He tries to clear it before speaking again. “Yeah.”

“Kinda surprised you’re not siding with them,” She says, jerking her head at the huddled forms of her brothers and Grace. “Five’s right too- she _did_ kill him.”

“You saw how scared she was,” He says. “I- I can’t pretend I’m not _pissed_ \- believe me I am- but don’t tell me you can look at her and think she’s a killer.”

“You know a lot about that?” She asks, lifting one perfectly-arched eyebrow at him. “Telling who’s a killer just from looking?”

“No one’s good at that, and anyone who says they are is a conman,” He says, and she chuckles. “But I’ve got more than my fair share of blood on my hands, and I know there’s a difference between guys who kill to survive and guys that kill just for the sake of it.”

“She was so sensitive, when we were kids,” She says sadly. “There was this one time- the boys were stepping on ants in the courtyard and she wouldn’t stop crying until I made them cut it out.”

“Klaus told me she used to let him listen to her practice when he was strung out,” He says. “And that she’d always help him edit his essays as long as he brought her a new record when he snuck out.”

“Or candy,” She says, a wistful smile creeping across her face. “She had this _huge_ box, just stuffed with it. I tried to sneak some one time, and you know what she did?”

He shakes his head.

“ _Covered_ my room in glitter the next time we went on a mission,” She laughs. “I swear, it’s been fifteen years and I’m _still_ finding bits of it whenever I do laundry.”

They collect their drinks and make their way back to the group just in time to hear:

“-if that’s okay with your two dads?”

“I would rather chew off my own foot,” Five sneers. The woman balks, dragging her son away without another word, Five grimacing after them. Something in the ball return catches his attention, and he wanders off to inspect it.

“If I _was_ going to date a man,” Diego says. “You’d be the last man I’d date.”

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Luther scoffs.

“Hey, I’m gonna make a quick phone call,” Allison says, tapping Dave’s arm to catch his attention. “Be right back, okay? Don’t let them do anything stupid.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” He says. She snorts, shaking her head as she walks away, heels clicking on the linoleum.

He settles back on the bench, sipping from the flimsy plastic cup absently.

“Where’s Allison?” Diego asks.

“Phone call,” Dave says.

“The hell is she calling at this hour?”

“I don’t know, maybe her _daughter_?” Luther suggests.

“I think I’d like to meet Claire, when this is all over,” Grace says thoughtfully. “Do you think I’d be able to fly to Los Angeles?”

“We’ll get you there,” Diego says firmly. “Anywhere you want to go, Mom.”

“Hm,” She hums. “I want to see _every_ art museum.”

“Yeah,” Diego says. “Okay.”

Dave, feeling like he’s intruding on something he shouldn’t be part of, preoccupies himself with his beer and a side of people-watching. It’s kind of comforting, seeing how little things have changed since _his_ slice of history. It’s also a little off-putting, especially when he considers how much his grandparents had complained about how much things changed since they were kids; he’d sort of assumed that rapid progress would continue, and so had the plethora of science magazines he’d flipped through over the years. He expected a few flying cars, maybe a jetpack. A portable phone at least, or something like the communicators on Star Trek; those’d come in handy, wouldn’t they? He can think of about a hundred times the past two days they would’ve made his life a hell of a lot easier.

It takes Allison a little while to return, and when she does, the bowling alley’s dimmed the lights to wish Kenny- the little boy Five had terrorized- a happy birthday.

“Where’s Five?” She asks, sliding into the seat next to Luther.

“Ran off, I guess,” Diego says. “Didn’t say where he was going, either.”

“Well we can’t sit around waiting for him,” Luther says. “Vanya’s concert starts in thirty minutes.”

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Diego asks.

“The plan is- uh…” Luther clicks his tongue. “We go to the Icarus Theater.”

“That’s a location, not a plan,” Diego says. “Look, you wanna be Number One, _fine_ , but you gotta get us all on the same page, because right now we are all over the place.”

“You’re right,” Luther sighs.

“Uh, guys,” Dave says, straightening suddenly. “Is that…?”

Above them, the fire alarms shriek out, the sprinkler system unleashing a deluge no birthday candle has a chance of withstanding, and a familiar voice cries out.

“Everyone, _out_!”

“How’d he know where to find us?” Allison half-laughs, watching in disbelief as Klaus struggles through the fleeing crowd towards them.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause we’ve had the same regroup point since we were twelve,” Diego says.

“Go, go, go!” Klaus yelps, sprinting towards them at full, uncoordinated speed. “Through the lanes, come on!”

“What? Why?” Luther asks.

Through the doors on the opposite side of the bowling alley from where the crowd had just escaped, a new crowd floods in; one dressed in strange tactical gear, with gas masks that for whatever reason don’t look quite right to Dave’s eyes.

“ _What part of ‘go’ do you not understand?!”_ Klaus cries, shoving at them with his palms flat, a wave of energy pushing them off the benches. They scramble to gain their footing, only to be forced to dive for cover when the mysterious gas-mask goons open fire.

Dave manages to tackle Klaus to the ground, dragging them both behind a table.

“Who _are_ these guys?” Luther shouts over the gunfire and- why the _hell_ is the music system on so loud? And what’s with the colored lights?

“Maybe they’re here for Kenny’s birthday!” Dave suggests. Klaus laughs, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him right then and there.

“Oh, I _love_ you,” He laughs as they pull apart.

“You’re not so bad yourself, babe,” Dave says. He wants to tell Klaus how glad he is he’s okay, how worried he’d been, but it’s not the time or place, so he settles for another quick kiss.

They get back to the task at hand.

There’s too many goons and not enough weapons- Diego’s already used far more of his knives than he can probably afford to spare, Luther and Allison have nothing, Klaus looks dead on his feet (more so than usual, at any rate), and all Dave has is Kenny’s birthday cake. It makes a surprisingly good projectile, knocking a gunman clear out.

“They’re blocking the exit!” Diego says.

“Through the lanes, like I told you!” Klaus says.

As one, the Academy (and Dave and Grace) dart for the lanes, zig-zagging and sliding across the slick wood as they try to avoid the bullets in their bowling shoes, but somehow they make it, and before Dave knows it they’re darting into the parking lot and back into the crisp night air.

“Where’s Five?” Klaus asks as the six of them finally stop to catch their breath a few blocks away. “He- he made it out, right?”

“Ditched us a little while ago,” Luther says. “He was fine, last I saw.”

“Good,” Klaus nods jerkily. “Okay, yeah, good. Everyone’s okay. Cool.”

Like a marionette whose strings had recently become acquainted with the concept of sharp things, he collapses to the sidewalk in a heap. Dave’s pretty sure he scrapes the hell out of his knees scrambling to his side, rolling him onto his back and checking his pulse.

“Is he…?” Allison asks.

“Alive,” Dave says. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or not. “Luther, can you help me carry him?”

Luther scoops Klaus off the ground, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Klaus makes a vague noise of protest, but otherwise seems perfectly content to remain unresponsive.

“We should keep moving,” Allison says. “I get the feeling those guys at the bowling alley won’t give up too easily.”

Uncertainly, they shuffle off in what Dave hopes is the direction of the theater, their tense silence broken only by an occasional snore from Klaus.

Klaus wakes up in an obnoxiously fancy lobby, propped against the coat check counter while his siblings bicker about something or another. He smiles sleepily to himself; _this_ is how he remembers them best- arguing about the latest mission and woefully underdressed for the location. He lost track of all the galas and suchlike they’d had to rescue over the years, but he remembers he’d always liked those better than the bank robberies or general outdoor mayhem. Fancy shindigs always had teenage-Klaus’ favorite things: easily-swiped valuables and access to substances. Plus, they’d typically been some of the lower-peril missions, so his siblings had never been as annoyed with him for sneaking off or being a shitty lookout. A win-win-win situation, if you ask him.

“They’ve been fighting for twenty minutes,” Dave murmurs. Klaus rolls his head to look at him, taking the time to admire the way his hair catches the light from the- is that real crystal in the chandelier? Klaus loves a good chandelier. “How are you holding up?”

“M’ brain feels like soup,” Klaus says. “Like a- a chowder, maybe. No! Chowder’s gross- like a _bisque_.”

“You get a concussion or something?” Dave asks, amusement mixing with concern. Klaus _hates_ when he gets concerned, because then Klaus feels guilty for making him worry and he has to, like, dissect his motivations behind the action that led them there. Or whatever. Boring Adult becoming-a-better-person shit. _Ugh_. “Hey, sunshine- c’mon, stay with me.”

“Sleepy,” Klaus mutters, head approaching dangerously close to Dave’s shoulder. He thinks there’s a reason he needs to be awake, but he can’t remember and the lobby is warm and Dave makes such a good pillow that he’s having a hard time forcing himself to work through the exhaustion.

“You hear the music?” Diego says, somehow cutting through the bisque sloshing around inside Klaus’ skull. “It’s started.”

Klaus’ eyes snap open, his skin practically buzzing as he scrambles up.

Vanya’s concert. Doomsday. _That’s_ why he needs to be useful.

“You’re awake,” Luther says, unreasonably surprised. “Are you okay? You went down pretty hard-“

“We have to stop her,” Klaus interrupts. “ _Now_.”

“How?” Diego asks. “And don’t say- we’re not-“ He shoots a desperate look over Klaus’ shoulder, at Dave who’s just catching up. “She’s our sister.”

“We don’t have to _kill_ her. Christ, Diego,” Klaus says. “Just- just incapacitate her, or distract her enough? Shit, I don’t _know_.”

“Okay,” Luther says. “Diego and I will go around the back, sneak up on her from the wings. You and Dave come at her from the front.”

“What about me?” Allison asks. “And Mom?”

“Mom stays in the lobby,” Diego says. “It’s too dangerous.”

“She hasn’t exactly had time to come to terms with what you told her, Allison,” Luther says. To anyone outside the family, it might come across as brusque, but Klaus can hear the apology creeping into his tone. “Besides, if our thing goes to shit we need you to rumor her down.”

“ _What_?” Allison splutters. “I ruined her _life_ the last time I rumored her, in case you forgot.”

“It’s not my first choice, but it’s an option we have to consider,” Luther says. “I need you on board with this.”

“There’s a PA in the tech booth,” Klaus says. “You and Mom can go up there and watch, and if it looks like things are going all Costa Rica, you can jump in.”

“Costa Rica?” Luther mutters.

“1948,” Klaus says. His siblings stare at him, like all he’s done is confuse them more. It takes intelligent thought a few moments to swim through his soup and deliver key information to him: they are not Five, and therefore have no goddamn clue what he’s talking about. “Uh, I sort of…”

He mutters his admission as quickly and quietly as possible, hoping to avoid anyone actually hearing it over the sound of the orchestra slowly building in the next room.

“Sorry, did you _seriously_ just say you-“ Diego says.

“Vanya! Apocalypse!” Klaus interjects, waving his arms wildly. “You can chew me out for it when we’re not all _dead_. Or, _you’re_ not all dead, if you wanna get pedantic about it.”

“Dears, I hate to be a bother,” Mom says. “But those men from the bowling alley are back, and they look quite cross.”

“Tech booth,” Klaus tells Allison as the group splits in all directions.

Dave takes one aisle, Klaus the other, and they enter the theater.

Klaus takes two steps before realizing hey, they should probably evacuate everyone, right? He takes one step back towards the lobby, but something about the music changes and he can feel it pulling him in. He turns towards the stage, letting his feet carry him and not paying much attention to the fact his feet aren’t touching the ground.

“Klaus! Snap out of it!” Ben shouts directly into his ear and he recoils, hissing like a venemous cat. “It’s her solo- something weird’s going on.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Klaus grumbles, massaging the afflicted ear tenderly. If he somehow managed to avoid hearing damage from decades of turning his headphones up to max and standing too close to speakers at raves, not to mention all the blunt-force head trauma, only for _Ben_ to bust his eardrum- he’s not going to be happy, that’s for sure.

He has to admit it’s easier to focus past the music, though.

He makes it to the frontmost section of seats before Vanya spots him, midway through her solo. She doesn’t miss a note, but she smiles warmly at him and the music gets… friendlier, somehow. It doesn’t go at all with her terrifying eyes, glowing white and rimmed darker than he’d ever managed even with his sloppiest attempts at eyeliner.

“What do we do now?” Ben asks, reaching cautiously towards her only for his hand to be knocked away by a ripple of sonic force.

“Well, at least I know why we were so cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs that first week,” Klaus says, eyes not moving from Ben’s hand. Between how his noggin still feels a little too liquidy- now approaching a non-newtonian solid- and _Ben_ being affected by her powers, it’s not too hard to put two and two together. He’s _good_ at putting two and two together. It makes four, and _he’s_ Four.

Hm, maybe his Jello-brain hasn’t had enough time to set.

“Vanya, hey!” Klaus calls over the orchestra, ignoring the rude lady shushing him the next row back. “Hey, do you think you could take a break, maybe? We just need to sort some stuff out, make sure you’re okay, y’know?”

She still doesn’t slow or fumble her playing, but she looks hesitant, like she’s considering it. He _almost_ allows himself a breath of relief, but is glad he hadn’t when the theater doors slam open and the Commission grunts swarm in, firing randomly into the crowd. He gets knocked to the ground in the stampede, and narrowly avoids getting trampled by making the tactical decision to roll under the seats until the civilians have either all cleared out or been shot. He’s hoping more of them escaped than didn’t, but he’s not gonna hold his breath. Collateral damage probably isn’t a big priority when you think it won’t matter in a few minutes.

A familiar _woosh_ happens somewhere nearby, and small hands yank him out of his hiding place.

“What’s with all the lallygagging?” Five shouts over the noise.

“Where the hell have you been?” Klaus demands, pulling himself free of his brother’s surprisingly strong grip.

“Had an errand to run,” Five says. “I see they sent insurance.”

“We’re screwed,” Klaus says hollowly.

“Klaus,” Ben claps a hand on his shoulder, slowly standing up. Why he’d bothered to hide, Klaus isn’t going to bother to ask. “Do it.”

“Do what?” Klaus blinks. Ben kicks him. “Ow! Use your words, asshole!”

“What do you _think_ , idiot?” Ben says. “Make me physical!”

“But The Horror-“ Klaus stops himself, realizing how _stupid_ he is. “Guys- get DOWN!”

Ben jumps the row of seats, then the next, getting as close to the center of the auditorium as he can, and Klaus opens up the floodgates.

The worst part isn’t the unholy wailing, or the creepy way the tentacles move, or even the way that they burst out of Ben’s stomach like a friggin’ Xenomorph. No, the worst part is the _squelching_ noises. Klaus thinks he might be sick, and then it’s over, and the tentacles are retreating without him having to sever the connection, and he and Ben grin at each other over the rows of seats as their siblings and Dave slowly peak their heads up.

“Oh my god,” Allison says, clearly having failed to follow Klaus’ very simple instructions.

“Ben,” Luther breathes, the sound carrying across the empty room, somehow loud enough to be heard over Vanya’s violin, still droning out a beautiful tune.

“Help,” A quiet voice says, and they turn back to the stage.

Vanya’s suit- once a crisp black- is a shock of white, her violin matching. Tears stream from her unnatural eyes, rolling down and pooling on the chin rest. Again, she continues to play, but now it seems almost like she’s fighting against it with every atom of her being- fingers straining to pull away from the fretboard, her bow _just_ touching the strings, the arm moving it shaking with exertion.

“Vanya, what’s-“ Luther starts.

A gun cocks.

“Put down the violin, miss,” Hazel says, voice cool and casual like he’s just telling her to pass the salt. “I don’t want to shoot, but I will.”

“Hazel!” Klaus hisses. “Not the time!”

“Sorry old man, but if you’re not gonna do it, someone has to,” Hazel says.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Vanya whimpers. “ _Please_ , someone help me!”

“Drop the gun, Hazel,” Five says. “Luther, can you-?”

“On it,” Luther says, vaulting a good five rows and sprinting up to the stage. All he does is lay a single hand on the violin, and a blast of energy explodes outward.

Klaus braces himself as chunks of ceiling rain down, arms raised above his head, but nothing hits him. He chances opening one of his eyes, then the other.

“Uh,” Klaus says. “Holy shit?”

About two metric tons of scaffolding, plaster, and roof tiles floats inches above their heads, ringed in the tell-tale aura of _his_ powers. A strange warm feeling spikes through his head, and it wobbles unsteadily.

“I can’t hold it-“ He drops to his knees, arms still raised above him. His arms _ache_ ; they shouldn’t ache, not when it’s not his muscles doing the heavy lifting, but they don’t seem to have gotten the memo. “Go!”

Hazel, Diego, and Allison are the first to rush past, then Luther carrying Vanya, and Klaus is left with Dave, Ben (who’s thankfully been pulled back through the veil- he’s _sure_ he would’ve passed out already if there were two drains on his powers), and Five.

“Go on,” Klaus grunts. “I’ll be fine, just- you guys get safe before we _all_ turn into pancakes.”

“You better be,” Five says furiously, and then he’s gone. Ben sits cross-legged on the ground across from Klaus, elbows resting on his knees as he leans down to eye-level, studying Klaus with almost uncomfortable focus.

“Dave, c’mon,” Klaus says. “You gotta get out of here.”

“No,” Dave says. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“That’s sweet, but-“ Klaus nearly buckles over, catching the floating debris again at the last time. “Can’t recommend this one, babe. Zero out of five stars, _really_ wish I wasn’t getting a repeat performance. Go on, git!”

“I _won’t_ ,” Dave says, voice cracking.

Desperate, Klaus drops an arm to try to repeat his little trick at the bowling alley, to push Dave back.

It’s enough to send the whole thing crashing down, and the last thing he sees before a chunk of balcony slams him to the floor is Dave, reaching out to him, and his own hand turning from pushing to reach back.

Vanya turns the broken pieces of her violin around in her hands, smoothing her fingertips over the supernatural paint job as she watches the distant forms of Luther and the other man- the one she could _swear_ nearly killed her when the Academy was attacked, who had aimed a _gun_ at her just now- sift through the wreckage that used to be the theater, looking for bodies.

Looking for Klaus, who she just killed, _again_. For his boyfriend, who she’s sure _hates_ her by now, which is painfully unfair because he’d been the only person earlier this evening who’d known enough about classical music to laugh at her jokes, and- _god_ she’s pathetic, getting so worked up about a potentially ruined friendship when she just _killed_ the guy.

She’s just glad her emotions are burnt out, or she thinks they might have a lot more than a vaporized concert hall to worry about. Knows it, actually.

“I just- I don’t get it,” She says, voice painfully feeble in her own ears. “If I stopped playing, why did it still… do _that_?”

“Even a failed performance still reaches a finale,” Mom says, smoothing Vanya’s hair away from her face. Bits of dust fall from it, tickling her nose. “Grand or not.”

“Basic law of energy conservation,” Five says. “You built up a lot of power, ergo it had to go somewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, the words feeling flimsier than her voice. “I didn’t mean to- it was like I couldn’t control myself.”

“We know,” Diego says, glaring at their siblings like he wants them to argue with him. “It’s not your fault. If Dad had actually _trained_ you instead of hopping you up on pills worse than Klaus, this never would’ve happened.”

“Vanya, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Allison says. “If I’d known what would happen…”

She trails off, eyes pleading and hopeful, begging for absolution. Vanya should give it to her, she knows; they were only little kids after all, and only Reginald had known what was going to become of the rumor.

But Allison had known, and never thought about the day she told Vanya she was just ordinary, and a terrible, self-centered part of Vanya can’t forgive that so easily. There had been nearly twenty-six years to fix that mistake, and Allison had never pulled her head out of her ass long enough-

Vanya takes a deep breath. It isn’t fair of her to think like that. She may not be _ordinary_ , but she’s not the center of the universe either, and Allison is her own person with her own problems.

“Just…” Vanya says eventually. “I need some space. To think.”

Allison nods tearfully, but walks about as far away as she can get while remaining in ear-shot.

Diego sits next to Vanya on the hood of the car, on the other side from Mom, and hands her a handkerchief. She dabs at her eyes gratefully.

“You okay?” He asks.

“I’m about as far from it as you can get,” She laughs humorlessly.

“Yeah, stupid question,” He snorts, looking away. “But you’re- you’re good, powers-wise?”

“I’m not going to end the world any time soon, if that’s what you’re asking,” She says teasingly, and his laugh rings out through the crisp, still night.

“Which means you have plenty of time to _get_ okay,” Five says.

“I’m sorry for ending it last time around,” She says. “And again, for almost ending it now.”

“Like Diego said, this is on Dad,” He says, his tone making it clear he won’t be making room for any argument. The stubborn part of her wants to try anyway, even though she agrees that- _most_ of- the blame is on Reginald. “So it’s up to us to help you get a handle on things, best we can.”

“Maybe it’d be better if I took my pills again,” She says. “Pogo can write me a new prescription, and I’ll just… go back to being ordinary, I guess.”

“Are you kidding? Vanny, that _sucks_ ,” Klaus says, limping towards them with heavy support from the mystery man. “Sure, going off ‘em cold turkey- _no bueno_ , no arguments there. But you’re off them now, so you might as well make the most of it.”

“If we decreased the dosage, maybe she’d still be able to use her powers,” Five says. “We’d have to balance it pretty carefully, but if she could take them at least while she gets a handle on her emotional regulation… it could be a useful tool.”

“Uh-uh,” Klaus shakes his head emphatically, the man easing him onto the curb next to them, paying a strange amount of attention to Klaus’ left leg, ensuring it’s stretched out in front of him. Klaus winces when it’s moved, but Vanya figures it can’t be too bad, considering how much he’d bitched about splinters and paper cuts growing up. “Remember when I first got Ben corporealized and he was drunk as a skunk all the time? That’s what we were trying to do- dull down the edges a little bit- but all we got ourselves was an even worse mess when we took the training wheels off.”

Five shrugs, dropping the idea.

“Was that really him, back in the theater?” Vanya asks. “I wasn’t sure, I saw some pretty weird things while I was, uh, hulking out.”

“Yeah, that was our beloved Casper,” Klaus says, looking fondly at the air next to him. “He says ‘hi’, and to tell you we’re working on getting him home. For good.”

“Oh,” Vanya says, wishing for the first time since the theater’s collapse that she could still feel things. This, she knows, would overwhelm her just as much as Allison’s confession and Helen’s murder, but it’s something she _wants_ to be overwhelmed by. _Needs_ to be overwhelmed by. “Good.”

Luther’s towering form approaches them slowly, a body cradled in his arms. The body doesn’t gasp for breath, twitch involuntarily, jolt awake; it just lays there, limp and bloody and broken. Like a corpse.

“Klaus, I’m- uh,” Luther clears his throat, coming to a stop a short distance from their little huddle of survivors. It might as well be a thousand miles away, from how distant it seems. “I’m sorry. He’s not- I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Set him here,” Klaus says, patting the curb next to him and forcing the words past the ash in his mouth- literal and figurative alike.

“He said he didn’t die,” Vanya says faintly. “Like you.”

“Yeah, it uh,“ Klaus smiles weakly, forcing a laugh. “Took me a few days to come back, last time the world ended. Guess it took a while for all those pesky organs to de-liquefy. Plus, things always took a little longer back then. I _thought_ it was the drugs, but-” He shrugs.

“Oh god,” Vanya murmurs.

“ _Days_?” Five asks incredulously. “You told me it had only been a few hours. Why- you _lied._ To _me_.”

“You were just a kid,” Klaus says, ignoring him in favor of looking Dave over, picking up his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. There are still a few scrapes littering his hands from helping Nichols fix the Jeep last week, standing out a sharp, furious red against his unnaturally pale skin. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I think we were well past the point of return by then,” Five scoffs. “So if I’d found you the day I arrived instead of fucking around first, I would’ve thought you were actually dead?”

“Well,” Klaus says, high-pitched and drawing out the syllable to a truly impressive length. “Not exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does it really matter?” Klaus asks. He can’t stop looking at Dave’s face, at the cheekbone that’s caved in like a long-abandoned mine, the gash running across his temple, the way his nose looks broken in multiple places. All those times Five had waited by his side, waiting for him to come back, had this been what he’d looked like? How much worse had it been, those few times he’d been caught in explosions? Fuck, no wonder Dave had believed him so easily after the Land Mine Incident.

“How long were you alone, Klaus?” Five asks. “How many nights did you spend in the theater?”

“I don’t know,” Klaus says reluctantly, but only after realizing he’s far too wiped out to just float his way out of the conversation even if he _could_ bring himself to leave Dave’s side. And after realizing he can’t come up with a good enough deflection. “I lost count, or didn’t keep count- I don’t remember. A while, I guess.”

“Unbelievable,” Five huffs.

Klaus shrugs again. Like he’d said, he hadn’t wanted Five to worry; it’s not like he could’ve done anything about it. He does have to admit he’s a bit surprised Ben had never spilled the beans, though.

“What do we do, now that the Academy’s gone?” Diego asks abruptly. “Klaus, did you see Pogo when you left?”

“No, but I wasn’t really paying attention,” Klaus says. “I was a little preoccupied with getting the hell out of dodge before Cha-Cha spotted me. How’d you ditch her, anyway?”

He directs the question to Hazel, who’s been watching them silently, leaning against another of the parked cars lining the street with the waitress from the diner- Agatha, or something? Klaus isn’t good with names.

“Sent her through the windshield after we spotted you guys going in,” Hazel says. “Apologies it took me so long to come in, I had some things to deal with first.”

“Things like?” Five prompts.

“The Handler,” Hazel says. “Put one right between her eyes.”

“Klaus?” Five asks, and Klaus finally tears his gaze away from Dave for a brief moment, just long enough to scrutinize the ghoulies hanging around their old coworker. There’s a lot fewer than there had been back in the motel so long ago, thanks to his efforts, making it all the more easy to pick out a familiar face. He takes the time to push her away before answering- he’d dealt with enough lectures from her while she was _alive_ , thank you very much.

“Not-so-dearly departed,” He confirms, looking back at Dave. Is it just him, or does his nose look a little straighter?

“That’s a weight off the old shoulders,” Hazel sighs. “What about ‘Cha?”

“Didn’t see her,” Klaus says.

“Maybe she moved on,” Hazel says hopefully.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Five says dryly. “But being betrayed by your partner _twice_ seems like the kind of thing that might produce unfinished business.”

An uneasy silence settles between them, though not for long as Diego raps his knuckles on the hood of the car.

“I’m gonna head back,” He says. “Try and find Pogo. Luther?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab Allison,” Luther says. “It’ll go faster if there are more of us.”

“I’ll try to salvage your charging station, okay?” Diego says, soft enough that Klaus barely hears it over the sound of Luther’s shoes scuffing across the wet pavement. “How much battery you got left?”

“I’m _fine_ , dear,” Mom says with a touch of fond exasperation. “I won’t need to connect to a power supply for a few days, so don’t you worry. Focus on finding Pogo, okay?”

“Okay,” Diego says, rapping the hood once more as two sets of footsteps return to them. “Let’s roll.”

“If it’s all the same to you fellas, we’ll be heading out too,” Hazel says. “I think it’s time we disappeared for a while.”

“Take care of yourself, Hazel,” Five says. “And take care of her.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be alright,” The waitress says. “You keep out of trouble, young man. It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“A little less, now,” Five says.

Klaus looks up once more to watch as the odd couple climb into their car- which, sure enough, has a giant hole in the windshield- and drive away.

“Should we send them a card, or something?” Klaus asks. “Like, ‘congrats on not dying, and also thanks for sorta helping save the world’?”

“If I see him again I’m ripping his spine out through his mouth,” Five says pleasantly.

“Manners, dear,” Mom says.

“Trust me, it’s the politest option,” Five says.

Klaus abandons his careful watch for good, finding it too painful to continue as the seconds tick by without any sign of revival, and they sit quietly a while longer, until the sound of sirens in the not-too-distant distance begins to echo off the buildings still standing.

“We need to clear out,” Five says.

“Where?” Vanya asks, the word coming out strangled and frantic. Klaus can see lights approaching, and fast.

“Can we use your apartment?” Five asks. “It’s the only place close enough for me to jump us all.”

“I- yeah, sure?” Vanya says. Five pulls her and Mom off the car, dragging them towards Klaus and Dave. “Five, my wrist-“

“Everyone hold tight,” Five says. Klaus adjusts his grip on Dave’s hand and reaches up to take Mom’s, and the street distorts, settling back into shape in the form of Vanya’s living room.

Klaus, deposited onto his feet, collapses to the floor, sucking air through his teeth and moving to clutch his leg before thinking better of it. He can feel the barely-congealed wound open back up, and he shudders to think what it’ll do to Vanya’s poor security deposit. Five drops too, though far more heap-like than his brother.

“Shit!” Vanya says. “Shit, is he okay? Are you?”

“Who me?” Klaus asks, gritting his teeth through the pain. “Just get him somewhere comfortable, he’ll be out a while.”

“But he’s okay?” Vanya presses, watching as Mom scoops Five up and carries him to Vanya’s bedroom.

“Yeah, just over-extended himself,” Klaus assures her. “Hey, can you help me get Dave onto the couch? I’ll pay to replace the upholstery if he bleeds on it, swear.”

“Uh,” Vanya says. “ _God_ my life is weird.”

He laughs near-hysterically, and after he’s calmed and wiped the tears from his eyes, pushes himself to his feet using the back of the soon-to-be-ruined couch. Vanya threads her arms under Dave’s, he grabs Dave’s legs, and they heave him up. Klaus wobbles with the release of momentum, barely catching himself before he becomes re-acquainted with the hardwood.

“Klaus, there is no way in hell you’re fine,” Vanya says, helping to brace him with a steady, strong hand on his arm. “Come on, you need to sit down.”

“Yeah,” He allows, breathing somewhat shallowly. She slings his arm over her shoulders, and they half-hop, half-shuffle to the armchair, which he collapses gratefully into. “Oh, that’s better.”

“What happened?” She asks. “Don’t you get a full-heal when you come back, or something?”

“Damndest thing,” He says. “Hazel was shifting rubble around, trying to dig our sorry asses out, and some load-bearing drywall gave up the ghost. Legs don’t make a great replacement, as it turns out.”

“Sorry,” She says.

“Eh, I’ve had worse,” He waves her concern away, too tired to keep arguing the point that she hadn’t _meant_ to do any of… that. He kind of feels like it doesn’t matter if she meant to or not, since he’s still got to deal with the fallout, but he also knows what it’s like to suddenly be overwhelmed with abilities you never knew you had. Granted, his had been a tad less destructive, but he’s sure Ben- the _old_ Ben- could tell a few stories to the contrary.

“Will you guys let me apologize for nearly ending the world?” She huffs, a weird mixture of amused and genuinely distressed.

“Hey, look, you gotta admit you were playing dodgeball with emotional landmines pretty much all week,” He says, somehow mustering up the energy to argue after all. “It’s sweet that you wanna apologize, and I love you for it! But… I kinda get it, y’know? And it’s not like you _knew_ melting down would go actually nuclear, so. Not your fault.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I get the feeling they don’t mean it,” She says, pulling his injured leg onto an ottoman. He bites the inside of his cheek as it aggravates the injury, but manages to suppress the reaction enough that she doesn’t notice. “I just feel like you and Five- at _least-_ should still be pissed. I mean, it was my fault you guys lost everything.”

“Not this version of you,” He says.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” She sighs.

“I think it’s one of my better attributes,”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, mussing his hair as she moves to the kitchen. He watches her pour herself a glass of water, then set it down and pour a stiff drink from the bottle of whiskey stashed in the cabinet. She pours a second, smaller one and brings it to him, perching on the arm of the couch as they sip. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like he _earned_ a drink as much as this one.

“Shit- the Academy’s phone is probably down, isn’t it?” She grimaces, glass halfway to her lips.

“If it isn’t, we should submit a patent for it,” He says. “‘World’s first indestructible phone’, we’d make millions!”

“It’s just… they won’t know where we are,” She says. “And if they go back to the theater, they’ll probably just get arrested.”

“Oh, yeah,” He frowns. “Good point.”

“I’ll collect them,” Mom says, heels clacking along the floor as she reappears from tending to Five. “It’s no trouble, and I could do with a nice walk.”

“Do you even know how to get there from here?” Klaus asks. “No offense, Mom, but I don’t think I remember seeing you leave the house. Like, ever.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Mom beams. “Isn’t that grand? I could map the whole city if I wanted. I think I might!”

“Okay, but Mom,” Vanya sets her glass on the coffee table, hurrying to catch Mom before she reaches the door. “Take a coat at least! It’s freezing out there.”

“Vanya, darling,” Mom says, smoothing a smudge of dirt off Vanya’s cheek. “You know I don’t catch cold, sweetheart.”

“Please?” Vanya asks. Mom chuckles, patting her cheek gently, but nods, and Vanya darts for the coat closet, pulling out a surprisingly elegant robin’s egg blue peacoat.

“How come you never wear that?” Klaus asks. “It’s _gorgeous._ ”

“How do you know I don’t?” Vanya retorts.

“Vanny, the tags,” He tips his glass at them. Blushing, Vanya rips them off before handing the coat off to Mom. “It’s a good color for you.”

“I guess I just never felt like I had the occasion,” She says. Mom slips it on, smoothing down the collar and dusting a few errant pieces of lint from the thick wool. “Be safe Mom, okay?”

“I promise,” Mom says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She marches over to Klaus to repeat the gesture, then makes a vain attempt to smooth his hair flat, frowning when it springs back. “We’ll set your leg when I get back, okay?”

“Bring the morphine!” He calls after her retreating form. “Don’t hold out on me _Madré_ , I know you and Pogo got the good stuff.”

“Boys will be boys,” She tuts, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Kisses!” He says. “Ah, there’s no chance she’ll bring it, is there?”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Vanya says.

Mom does not bring morphine, but she brings Pogo who has a much more reasonable approach to painkillers, especially once a sleepy Five promises to drag Klaus to rehab himself if he starts abusing it. Klaus could really do without everyone taking the choice of sobriety away from him, but if it gets him something that makes his leg stop screaming bloody murder, he’ll put up with it a little longer. He’s also offended they think he’ll throw away all his hard work for a fix, but the Klaus most of them know probably would. Hell, he’s not sure he’d be this sure about it nine months ago, but he’s since had the privilege of hitting a rock-bottom that finally _meant_ something to him besides the fact that it made people get on his case.

And he’d done it. He’d clawed and crawled his way to sobriety once more (without having his options taken away, he might add), and he likes to think he has a reasonably healthy relationship to alcohol too. It could use some work, he’s not gonna lie, but he’s not reaching for a bottle when things get a little too rough for his delicate nerves. Most of the time. Like, eighty percent of the time. The last few days don't count, okay?

Anyway: morphine. Sweet, sweet morphine, soothing the hellfire of one compound and one oblique tibial fracture and one transverse femoral. He thinks that’s what Pogo had said, anyway.

He drifts in and out of sleep in the beautiful but uncomfortable armchair, mostly panicking himself awake as the hours tick closer and closer to four in the morning. If there’s one thing he’s grateful for, it’s that Allison had had the foresight to book a few rooms at the nearest hotel for herself, Diego, Luther, Mom, and Pogo. He doesn’t have the energy or desire to deal with their pity, assuming they’re smart enough to figure out _why_ he’s so freaked.

Each time he wakes, he reaches over the arm of the repositioned chair to check Dave’s pulse, and each time he comes away disappointed. He knows better than to expect him to recover from a death like that so quickly, but it doesn’t make him any less anxious the longer it gets.

At some point, he dreams of a strange, empty mansion, its walls covered in portraits of him. Always with long hair (and quite possibly the ugliest goatee he’s ever seen), and always with his palm tattoos on prominent display. The mansion is dark, and lonely, and the only person with him is Ben, who’s teasing him for throwing covers on all the paintings. He wakes when his dream-self passes out on the couch.

Dave’s holding his hand, and early-morning sun is streaming through the curtains, bathing the room in pale pinks and yellows. Did he wake up, or is this one of those dream-within-a-dream things?

“Sure hope you’re awake, otherwise I’ve got a lot more to come to terms with,” Dave laughs quietly. Klaus flushes at the realization he’d spoken the question, embarrassed he’d forgotten how loose his tongue gets on pain meds. “How are you feeling?

“Should be asking _you_ that,” Klaus mutters, using the back of his his unoccupied hand to scrub sleep from his eyes. “I’m okay, just druggy and achey. Nothing that won’t clear up, given enough time. How’s your head?”

“Fine, weirdly,” Dave says. “I would’ve expected it to be splitting open, after a death like that.”

“Gift horses,” Klaus yawns. “Something, something. I don’t know. Glad you’re okay.”

“You too, sunshine,” Dave says, the most beautiful smile Klaus has ever seen tugging at the corners of his mouth, dimpling his cheeks as he ducks his head. “You too.”

Dave helps him to the couch, propping his casted leg on the coffee table, and they curl up together to watch the sun finish rising above downtown, though Klaus falls asleep again before the sky can turn fully blue.

The next time he wakes, it’s to an apartment overstuffed with life as his family makes a mess of poor Vanya’s kitchen, Mom and Pogo desperately trying to reign in the chaos with little success.

It’s good to be home.


End file.
